


Tie Me Down

by MsSolo



Category: Generation X (Comic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-19
Updated: 2006-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1636121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSolo/pseuds/MsSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after recent events in New Excalibur. Paige brings Jubilee to London, having heard about Jono's resurrection. Jono finds himself guilted into taking his old friend in, and doesn't regret it. They learn to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tie Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: There seem to be a few versions of Jono's blow up floating around, so I'm going by the one in Weapon X. This isn't really relevant until towards the end of the fic.  
> My lovely beta was fullmetal_cute. Many thanks!  
> If you're curious as to what Jubilee's birthday outfit looks like (minus coat), it can be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/comics_fanart/194023.html
> 
> Written for thelasteuropean

 

 

1

He's among friends; it's alright to lower the scarf. Gayle lowers her eyes, but he can deal with that because sometimes he can't quite look at her, either, for all that they've spent most of the last month sleeping together. But he's got his own place now. It got too strange there, especially with Toby running around. Dis is trying to build a house of cards out of beermats, and Sophie is gazing at the unattended mic stand. Jono lifts his beer to his lips and takes a drink.

He hears the footsteps approach, but doesn't think much of it. The pub is pretty busy tonight, for all that it's a Thursday. He sees Dis lift his head and frown, but it's not until he looks at Gayle that he realises he has to turn around.

Paige. Eyes lowered, hands in front of her. Civilian clothes. Blonde hair ragged from chewing, something different about her whole expression. Jono's heart clenches.

A burst of giggles. Jono drags his eyes off his ex, and sees Jubilee. She has one hand over her mouth, the other half pointing at him. With a start he drags the scarf back up to cover his mouth, but it's too late.

He sighs and stands up. "Wot are you two doin' `ere?" he asks.

Paige's eyes widen, and she shakes her head tersely. Jono frowns, and wishes he still had his telepathy.

"I'm glad you're alright," she says, which is entirely unhelpful.

"For a given definition," Jono replies with a shrug. He scans the rest of the crowd nervously, wondering if any other X-Men are going to appear.

"Me too," Jubilee says. "You should have called and told us." She steps forwards, and Jono finds himself being awkwardly hugged, his arms pinned to his sides. He hears Dis snicker.

Right, introductions.

"Right, intros," he says. "Jubilee, Paige. Dis, Sophie, and yer've met Gayle."

"*The* Paige?" Dis asks. Jubilee plops into a seat beside him, glowing with the prospect of gossip. Dis grins broadly. "We oughta give Sugar's agent a call, get all yer exes here fer a chat."

"And what'd we get if we got all yers t'gether?" Jono asks sharply. "Bunch of middle aged men? And their wives and kids?" His smirk is dangerous.

Dis raises his hands in defeat, though there's something off about his smile. Jono keeps his sigh to himself, and wonders what else can go wrong this evening.

"I'm going to the bar," he announces. "Jubes, Paige, what y'havin'?"

"Lemonade, please," Paige says.

"I'm old enough to drink here, aren't I?" Jubilee asks. Jono grins despite himself. "Oooh, what's good?"

"Lemonade," Paige says firmly.

"Are you getting everyone a drink, or just the Americans?" Gayle asks, "Because I could do with a top up." She hands him her wine glass.

"Vodka and coke?" Sophie asks, and there's another glass in his hand.

Dis is eyeing his two-thirds full beer.

"Don' even think about it," Jono warns him. "I'm not carrying yer home again. Besides, you owe me one." His own is barely half drunk too, and any temptation to get another anyone is squashed by the realisation that the girls will have cleaned him out for the night. He wraps his scarf tightly around his face, and grabs a pair of dark glasses from the table. The staff are alright, but some of the other drinkers might have a go at him otherwise.

Paige follows him to the bar, with the excuse that she'll help carry the drinks.

"We found out through Kitty," she tells him. "Jubilee has... since she lost her powers, she's been all over the place. She might even have been living on the streets for a bit. Wolverine found her, but she's refusing to stay at the institute. It's hit her hard."

"I sympathise."

"I told her she could stay with you."

Jono's hand tightens around the stem of the wine glass. He focuses on the damp beer towel for a moment, and tries to remember why he shouldn't chuck the drink at her. What the hell kind of presumption...

"I told her you'd asked her. It was the only way to convince her to come."

He can't afford another glass of coke. Sophie'd forgive him, but he doesn't want to have to ask her to, not when he's already pissed off her flatmate.

"She's a wreck."

Jono turns his head to look at Paige.

"I'm on the dole," he says through gritted teeth. "I'm on the dole and I'm living in a fucking council flat. There's nowhere for her to stay."

Paige holds his gaze. "She'll sleep on a sofa," she says.

"I haven't got a sofa," Jono snarls. "I haven't even got a fucking bed!"

Paige blinks at him. Jono takes a deep breath and lets it out. He blames Warren, and feels a little better. He knows Paige can empathise - empathise, not sympathise - with his poverty, but that she didn't expect it stings. Where is he supposed to get cash from? A bit trickles in occasionally, because he gets royalties from some of Sugar's songs, the few that he wrote (and the only ones to be considered even half-way decent by anyone other than thirteen year old girls), but it's nothing like enough to live off. He'd forgotten how expensive food is when you have to eat every day.

"I'm sorry," Paige says, looking down at the drinks. "I didn't..." She sighs, and looks up again. "She's desperate," she says. "I tried to talk her into staying at my home, but with everything that's happened she doesn't want to impose on mom."

"Everything that's happened?"

"Jay and..." Paige pauses. "You don't know about Jay," she says.

Jono shakes his head. He likes Jay. He likes that faint feeling of superiority he gets when introducing Jay to new (old) bands, being his musical mentor. He likes jamming with Jay, hearing him sing. He likes that Jay likes him better than Warren.

"He's dead," Paige says.

Jono puts down the wine glass and Jubilee's vodka and lemonade. He tries to remember to breathe. He feels a headache start, and somewhere behind his stupid red eyes, heat begins to build.

"Oh, Paige."

She nods, and he sees tears begin to squeeze from between her eyes, though she's trying to hold them back. It doesn't take a single thought for him to gather her into his arms, and hold her. There's a lump in his throat he can't swallow past, and he buries his face in her hair.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry."

Jesse's a good bloke. He lets them stand there, doesn't push Jono for the money for the drinks. Eventually Paige pushes him away, and pulls a tissue from a pocket. There's a lot in there. Jono wants to asks questions, but bites his tongue. He can ask Jubilee.

Right, Jubilee.

He drops the remains of his change onto the bar, and picks up two of the drinks. As they make their way back to the table, Paige still sniffing a little, he asks, "You and Jubes have somewhere to stay for the night?"

"I... I guess," Paige says. "I told Warren not to book us in at the hotel, but he can probably convince them to give us a room."

"He's here too?"

Paige looks up at him, mouth twisted in a sad smile. "It's a mission. Jubes wasn't going to have anyone pay for plane tickets or anything, so I talked her into tagging along on the X-Jet."

"This isn't just about losing her powers, is it?" Jono asks. Paige shakes her head, but can't say more because they've reached the table. Jono doesn't think she needs to; his mind's on Ange and Ev.

"Hey," he says, passing out the drinks. Jubilee takes a swallow of her (vodka and) lemonade, and pulls a face. Jono grins, but realises he can't see it through the layers of thick wool. He stares down at the table, good humour gone. As is most of his beer. He raises his eyes to Dis, who shrugs, and pushing his own drink towards Jono. Jono tugs the scarf down and forces a smile, accepting the apology. He figures all's fair again between them.

There's some odd, awkward conversation. Jubilee is being cheerful at people in a way that makes Jono slightly uncomfortable. He can't tell if it's real or not, her mood. Sophie is responding amicably enough, but Dis might as well be laughing at her. Gayle and Paige are Not Looking at each other.

"I guess Dracula was right," Jubilee says to him offhandedly. "Mega-weird."

"The fuck?" Dis stares at her. "Dracula?"

"Yeah. So not the most surreal thing that happened to us, either," she says. She's about to elaborate, but Dis is looking at Jono now.

"Because you weren't goth enough already," he laughs. "Fucking *Dracula*."

Jono shrugs. "It's actually a competitive sport, being a goth," he says. "Gonna be in the next Olympics. I'm training to goth for England."

"Germans'll win," Sophie says, "they've been goth since before the Romans got there."

Paige looks a little baffled, though she clearly gets it, and the humour seems to suit Jubilee.

Paige looks at Gayle. "I thought you were..." she pauses.

"Lady Edgerton?" Gayle laughs bitterly. "Things change. I was, I'm afraid, rather abruptly disinherited. Speaking of which, I've got to go," Gayle says. "Babysitter has school tomorrow."

"Babysitter?" Paige asks.

"Yes."

Jono sees a chance, and stands up. "I'll walk yer back," he says. Gayle is about to say something, and he wonders how to explain to her what's going on. Must be how Paige felt earlier. Funny how he never realises he misses telepathy til times like this. He flaps a hand at her, and frowns.

He looks over at Jubilee. "I musta got my dates mixed up," he says. "I need to have a bit of a clean up. Dis and Sophie'll show you over, if yer want, or it can wait til tomorrow."

She nods, and doesn't say anything.

He walks beside Gayle's wheelchair, occasionally in front to nudge people out the way. He never tries to push her.

"Yer still got that sleeping bag?" he asks her.

"Yeah. What are you planning?" she returns.

"Paige's told Jubes I asked her t' live with me." Jono grimaces. "I'd've said straight no, but talking t' Paige... I don't think I could turn Jubilee away right now."

By the time they reach the door, Jubilee is there. Jono opens his mouth.

"You never asked me here, did you?" she says.

"O' course I-"

"Don't treat me like an idiot," she hisses. "Did Paige even ask you?"

Jono sighs, shoulders slumping. He shakes his head. "I didn't know yer were coming til y' were `ere," he says. "Honestly, though, pet? I'm not against the idea. Yer'll be, once yer see my place."

"He's right," Gayle says. "Well, smell it, anyway."

Jono turns a hurt look on her.

"You've got to stop smoking," she says. "Place reeks of it."

Jubilee snorts. "I can live with that," she says. "Logan smokes cigars, and I coped." Her mouth twists. "Jono, you've gotta be honest with me here. Do you want me to stay? It's not like you're my last shot. Everyone's just begging to put me up, it seems. I'll be alright if you say no."

Jono looks at her. She's wearing a pink halter top and yellow demi-pants. One hand is wrapped around the extended handle of a small, dirty, pink suitcase. There are dark smudges under her eyes. Her hair is the longest he's ever seen it, and needs a wash. She looks too thin.

She'll look thinner, if she comes to stay. He can't afford enough food for the two of them. If the council realise she's there they'll both be homeless. He might even get chucked in jail, because if they try to fine him he'll never be able to pay it. There's nowhere for her to sleep. He likes living alone.

He wants her to stay. He wants her to stay so badly. Each reason hurts him, makes him want it more. He can't even give a good reason why.

"Stay," he says. "I want yer t'stay." He swallows as his voice tries to give way. "We'll work it out."

He takes the suitcase from her, and leads the way out of the pub.

2

She can't stop thinking about how much Jono looks like Ange. She had never been so relieved as when he turned around and she saw those cow lips for the first time. Her laughter had sounded strange to her own ear, almost hysterical, but she supposes it was just from lack of practice.

In the dark, the flats loom. Huge and grey and pungent. She isn't used to flats like these; the entrance seems more like a fire escape. They climb concrete steps and walk along narrow concrete walkways until the reach the third floor. While Jono fumbles for his keys she leans on the narrow wall and looks down. The ground below her is a square of dust amongst the tarmac, light by a single streetlamp. A few trees hold court in what must have once been a park-like area. There are benches down there, covered in teenagers; they passed them on the way to Jono's flat. Most of the teens are drunk, several seem to be high. Fights breakout sporadically. One of them pours a bottle of liquid Jubilee can't identify from this distance over a bench a couple are making out on and sets fire to it. Jono grabs her by the back of her coat and pulls her inside.

It *does* smell bad. The cigarette smoke is hiding a multitude of other sins. She's standing in a narrow corridor, a door on either side and another in front.

"Bathroom," Jono indicated the one of the left, and then the right, "bedroom." He opens the door in front of them. "Living room," he says.

She follows him through the door, and he flicks on the light. There's a door against the wall she's come through; it's open, and she can see a kitchen. There's another at the far end of the wall to her right, which is closed.

The only furniture in the room is a dining chair with a broken back. It is surrounded by large cardboard boxes. She recognises some of them with a touch of nostalgia: Jono's record collection. On top of one of them sit a very battered looking radio/CD player. An amp and three guitars stand against a wall; one acoustic and two electric, one of which is a bass. There's also a tambourine, and a child's keyboard with a picture of Kermit the frog on and a label reading "Oxfam, 50p".

She wants to laugh again. A small giggle escapes her lips. Jono turns to look at her.

"Oh, dahlink," she purrs, "it's just *so* you." She can't stop giggling, though it's starting to sound brittle again.

He takes the scarf off and drapes it over a Bowie collection, and she sees that he's smiling. She begins to think he might have meant it when he said he wanted her to stay. He's got a sleeping bag and roll mat he borrowed from Gayle. They'd stopped at hers on the way here: though she'd obviously come a long way down in the world, her house suggested she wasn't struggling the way Jono was.

"Want a brew?" Jono asks, dumping the sleeping bag and mat on the floor.

"Please," Jubilee says. "Two sugars."

The kitchen's not bad. Absolutely tiny, but almost clean (if she excludes the mountainous pile of washing up). Cooker looks alright, and though the fridge is older than both of them it seems to still be working. Jono roots through the washing up to extract two mugs, and Jubilee realises he only owns two. One plate, one bowl, a couple of sets of cutlery, a couple of saucepans and a very battered looking frying pan...

"Milk's gone chunky," Jono informs her. "Black alright?"

Jubilee nods. "Add another sugar, though." She opens one of the cupboards.

"Oi," Jono says, swatting her with the teaspoon. "Nosy."

"I'm quite impressed," she told him. "I didn't know they sold pasta in bags that big." She ducks another teaspoon assault. "Where's everything else?"

"There isn't `everything else'." Jono opens the fridge for her to survey. Apart from the chunky milk, it contains a black tomato. "Gyro doesn't come til the weekend, so pasta's all yer getting."

"I told Paige I needed a work visa." She accepts the tea from Jono, wrapping her hands around the mug. He pokes her out of the kitchen, and sits down on the floor, looking meaningfully at the chair. She ignores it and flops down on the floor too.

"What sort of visa have yer got?" he asks.

"I haven't," Jubilee admits.

"Shit, no."

She nods. "Advantages of travelling by X-Jet," she informs him.

"Yer an illegal immigrant. Christ, because this wasn't going t' get me in enough trouble already."

Jubilee's stomach doesn't like that, anxiety rising like bubbles inside her. She glances up through her bangs; Jono's smiling. Geez but he looks weird now.

"What's with all the-" she waves a hand at him. "Pocky-lips," she says.

"Ressurrected by the cult of Akkaba, thanks to some relations of m' great granddad and the big man himself." Jono sighs. "Fucking sucks. If I had my powers I'd blow it off again - I'd rather be without a face than `ave this one."

"So, are you, like, immortal, now?" Jubilee sips the tea, trying to pop the bubbles in her stomach. It's stupid to hope he is. It's cruel to wish that on someone. It's hard enough watching people die when you know your own life won't be that long; to live forever much make it torture. Luckily, he doesn't answer.

"Yer can kip down in `ere tonight," Jono says, pushing a box aside with one hand. "There oughta be enough floor space if we shift things about a bit. Dunno what t' do long term, though."

"What do you mean?"

"If the council comes by, they're gonna twig yer living `ere. Dunno if it's better t' say yer on `oliday, and kipping in the living room, or yer a one night stand. If they think we're dating, we're screwed."

"Paige said she'd come by tomorrow," Jubilee says. "I'll ask her to sort me with a visa when she gets back to the mansion; if she can't do it Kitty can. You know, like I haven't actually come here yet. I'll get a job, and we can get a proper place."

"Nice dream," Jono says. He takes her cup off her and stands up, going into the kitchen to wash up. Jubilee lays out the roll mat - pinning down the edges with two boxes of Queen, one box of The Kinks and one box of Misc - and spreads out the sleeping bag. She's slept in worse places. Glancing back at the kitchen, she notes that Jono's just started on the pans. She rises slowly, and creeps across the room and out into the short corridor.

Jono's bedroom door is locked. With a sigh, she walks back, not disguising her annoyance. Jono grins at her through the open kitchen door.

"Worth a shot," she says.

"Not much in there," Jono admits. "Knackered futon, coupla boxes o' clothes. Normally I keep the guitars in there, but I `ad them out this morning for a bit of a session."

"I'd like to hear you play," Jubilee says, meaning it.

"Later," Jono says, giving the instruments a dirty look. He digs into a back pocket and produces a bar of chocolate of a brand Jubilee doesn't recognise. She doesn't eat much chocolate anyway. He snaps a couple of blocks from it and offers them to her. She shakes her head. "Go on," he says. "S'organic." When she still doesn't accept he chucks them into his own mouth. He smiles immediately, and his eyes flicker shut. All of his muscles seem to go limp, except the few keeping him standing, and that's a close call.

"You're just doing that to make me want some," Jubilee accuses.

Jono laughs. "Nah, pet. It's good stuff, this. Between American beer and American chocolate, I was almost glad not t' be able to eat. This stuff, though... it was worth waiting for."

With a sigh, Jubilee accepts a small piece. It smells faintly orangey, and it's dark. She places it on her tongue. It starts to melt immediately; it's not grainy at all, like the chocolate she's used to. She's not keen on dark, and this is very dark, but it's not too bitter, and it tastes sort of spicy. It tastes expensive.

"Maya Gold," Jono says, chucking the rest of the bar at her. "Expensive, but worth it. Fair Trade an' all."

"Because that's a good excuse to buy candy," Jubilee laughs.

"Right," Jono says. "Look, I don't know where yer are in terms of time zones, but I'm gonna head to bed, alright? Y' can listen to the radio or whatever. Sorry there's not much else."

Jubilee is polishing off the rest of the chocolate. She simply nods in ascent, too busy to reply. He disappears, and after a bit of clomping about she hears the toilet flush and a tap run. She wonders if he needs to shave.

She's not tired, not at all. It'll be a few hours before she is. The black tea has killed any soporific affect the alcohol might have had. Most of Jono's CD collection doesn't appeal to her, and she doesn't dare change the station he's got the radio set to. Eventually, she finds some books in a corner, mostly biographies and autobiographies. Che Guevara's she expects, and some of the musician's too. Northstar's she doesn't, but it amuses her. There's something by Ewan McGregor about travelling as far as he can on a motorbike, and a much read one about some guy called John Peel. It's this one she chooses.

She really has to go to the bathroom by the time she finishes. It hadn't been that engrossing, she is sure, but it had been kinda funny, and pretty sad, too. She thinks she remembers Jono mentioning him as some sort of idol once, and she gets it, now. Jono would have wanted to be discovered by him. Sounded like the sort of guy who'd have been happy to discover him now, if he was still alive, regardless of Jono's psycho-clown look.

No, she knows why she kept reading. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking in the middle of the night, thinking on her own, thinking in general, thinking meant stopping. Heart stopping. Gut wrenching. She wonders if this was how Jono feels when he thinks about being a mutant, the way she feels when she thought about not.

The bathroom is *not* pleasant. Guys, Jubilee has decided, aren't good at keeping bathroom's clean, no matter how tidy they are elsewhere. She wonders if it has something to do with standing up, whether they notice less. She figures she ought to earn her keep while she's here, and the bathroom is *so* first. The bath itself has a brown ring around it that comes off when she scratches it, and a brown bottom that doesn't. The toilet is really suffering, and the sink is covered in bits of old soap and hair and rust and mould. There's mould everywhere, actually; the bathroom suffers badly from damp. There's bleach under the sink. It's leaked a little, and seemed to be gnawing its way through the lino, but if anything'll shift the brown, it will.

She's not sure how much time has passed when there's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Yeah?"

It opens. Jono leans in the doorway, squinting in the light. He's just wearing boxers, and Jubilee gets a good view of the tattoo. Apocalypse really did a number on him.

"It's three in the sodding morning," Jono says. "What the *hell* are you doing?"

Jubilee stares at the worn cloth in her hands, and the now clean bath. It occurs to her that she doesn't even particularly like cleaning.

"I figured, uh, I figured I owed you. For letting me stay."

"Yer cleaning the bath at three in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep." Jubilee swallows. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Yer didn't," Jono says, and there's something dark in his voice. "Come on, pet, even you must be tired by now."

She shakes her head firmly.

"Alright then," Jono says with a shrug. "Guess I'll leave yer t'it." He steps back, and the door begins to swing close. Just before it shut, he adds quietly, "S'called a displacement activity, y'know."

Jubilee stares at the bleached rag, and remembers to wash her hands thoroughly before she starts to cry.

3

If he's tired, Jubilee must be shattered. The bathroom is fucking spotless. He's kinda embarrassed, actually. He'd thought it was alright, until he sees it now. Bit scared to use it, if he's honest.

He regrets what he said last night. He worries how Jubes took it. He just... it was a displacement activity, and it's better she knows it. Help her move on, and all. He'd had enough therapists tell him that in his life. Hated them all, of course, and had gone out of his way to invent new ways to spite them.

Jubes is awake. He wonders if he woke her. He wonders if she's slept, but he thinks she has. She wrapped up in the sleeping bag, staring at the tea he gave her. Even sweeter than last night. He wishes he could offer her breakfast, but the loaf of bread he found in the cupboard had been stuck to the shelf by mould.

He feels bad. He feels guilty. He was selfish, offering to take her in. She was just someone to drag down to his level. She deserves better, to be with someone who can cheer her up. He understands Paige doesn't feel up to the task, but he wonders about M. He wonders about Penance too, and tries not to think too hard about all that. What about Wolverine, though? Or Iceman? Iceman is a cheerful sort of guy, right?

But they all still have their powers.

Poor kid. He should say something. Something comforting. Maybe give her a hug. He should at least make an effort.

There is a knock on the door. Jono checks he's dressed (hey, it's happened before, okay?) and goes to answer it, grabbing a scarf as he goes, wrapping himself up just in case. It's Paige, and a large pair of wings. Warren's shouting something at the pikeys outside. Something hits one of his wings, and he stumbles. Best part, Jono thinks, is that Warren's going to have trouble even fitting through the door. Not really any point inviting him in.

Paige seems to think otherwise. Jono has to back into the bathroom to let them pass. He can't get into the living room until Paige nudges Warren into the kitchen.

He catches Paige's eye.

"You have furniture," she says defensively, gesturing at the chair. Both Jubilee and Warren give her odd looks, and Jono feels a laugh roll somewhere inside his chest, though he doesn't let it out.

"You can't stay here," Warren says to Jubilee. "This is ridiculous."

Jono frowns and folds his arms. He's glad he's got the scarf on now, and that he'd bothered with a shirt.

Jubilee is on her feet. She's wearing a long t-shirt and leggings, looks like she's escaped from the eighties. Jono finds Warren reminds him of the eighties. Warren reminds him of someone who'd have voted for Thatcher.

"It's alright," Jubilee is saying. "It's bigger than it looks."

"It's not big enough for *one* person," Warren says. "I could get you a trailer bigger than this."

"I hadn't realised you were..." Paige trails off, looking at Jono. `What', he thinks, `not exaggerating?'

"It's cosy," Jubilee asserts.

"Jubilee," Warren sounds frustrated. "I can't let you stay here, not in good conscience. Why don't you let me get you your own place? You could still live nearby, if that's what you really want."

Jono can see by the set of Jubilee's jaw that Warren's only making it worse for himself. He's quite enjoying the fact he hasn't had to say anything yet.

"I'm staying here," Jubilee says firmly. "Jono said he wants me, and I can tell he *needs* me. Not that he can't look after himself," she adds hurriedly, shooting him guilty looks, "but just, you know. Company. And the presence of someone who knows how to cook more than pasta."

"Oi," Jono says. "I'm a widely accomplished cook, I'll have yer know. Just a bit outta practice."

"It really is too small for two people," Paige says, doubt and apprehension soaking her voice. "There's not enough space for us all to stand in here."

"That's just Jono's record collection," Jubilee says dismissively. "We can fix that."

"How?" Jono's surprised at how dark his voice comes out. It's not his fault; he has a horrible suspicions Jubilee's going to suggest they build a couch out of them, or some other heinous crime against mint condition vinyl. Or sell them. If she suggests he sell them she's going home with Warren, and that's final. Even if there is several thousand pounds worth of music in here.

She shoots him a withering look instead, and says, "Put up shelves. Duh, what did you think?"

He finds himself smiling at her, letting it reach the eyes so she knows it. Yeah, Jubes is going to be an alright housemate.

"He's making you sleep out here? Where does he sleep?" Warren demands.

Jono knows that Warren is protective of Jubilee. Most of the older X-Men are. He knows that he's not trying to be personal. Probably. Mostly he knows that anything he says or does at this junction is just going to make him look like a petty ex. He's not going to give Warren that satisfaction.

"His bedroom's, like, half the size of this," Jubilee says, "and the window's broken. And it smells of boy." She wrinkles her nose, and Paige giggles.

"Plus, Jubilee's room," Jono says, indicating the room they were standing in, "has a balcony."

"Where?" Warren asks.

Jubilee points at the door at the end of the wall. "It's totally cool. It think it's, like, part of the fire escape or something. It's like being on Friends. Except with sixties concrete architecture. That's how I know Jono's window is broken, it looks out over it."

Jono had been wondering, he has to admit.

"You really want to stay here?" Paige asks, looking Jubilee in the eye.

Jubilee nods. "As long as Jono doesn't mind, yeah. I've lived in worse places. I know it's small and damp and cheap, but it's cool like that, you know? It feels more like a proper home for it. It's..." she sighs, and visibly steels herself. "It reminds me of living with Angelo, back in LA. Being totally self-reliant and independent. Looking out for each other, and not for whatever X-lunatic is trying to take over the world this week. I'm not... I'm not different here." Jono can hear the earnestness in her voice. There's an ache in his chest. "I don't need to be defended by anyone. Nothing's going to happen that I need defending from, except normal stuff like the white trash outside, and with stuff like that," she shrugs, "I'm equal to Jono."

"Yeah," Jono says. He regrets it; everybody turns to look at him. His voice was all fucked up too, like he'd been shouting or crying or something. Way to make an idiot out of himself. But Jubilee's beaming at him. He wraps his arms tighter around himself, and tries to disappear into the wall.

"Oh- okay," Paige says. "Well, I'm glad this worked out. I'm sorry I lied to get you here, Jubes, but I'm glad it worked out." `Yes', thinks Jono, `repeating it will make it true'. "Can I have your phone number, Jono?" Paige asks.

"My what?"

"Your..." Paige looks around, "cell?" She doesn't sound so sure.

Jono spreads his hands. "When I want t' get in contact with people, pet, I go and talk t' them."

"So you never get in contact with people, then," Warren says. Jono jerks. It must look like a flinch, but it's not. He's restraining himself from punching the smug bastard. Fuck it, should have offered them tea, or something. Then he could be all smarmy about Warren being rude to him in his own home. As it is, he can't really claim to be any kind of a host.

"You can write," Jubilee says. "It'll be totally cool. Like penpals. Or lovers during the war!"

There's a faint blush on Paige's cheeks. Jono wonders if Warren's noticed it.

"Yeah," she says. "Very cool. What's the address?"

Jono grabs a notepad from the top of the Ramones box and a pen from its place blutacked to the wall and scribbles it down. He shoves the address at Paige and focuses on putting the pen back. He doesn't want post from Paige. He wants them gone. He wants them gone, now.

He wonders if Warren heard him, because he says, "Right, I guess we're done here. If you're sure, Jubilee?"

Jubes rolls her eyes at him. "I'll write you," she promises. "I'll write everyone, okay? Oh, and I need you to sort me a visa," she says to Paige. "A work one, that kinda doesn't mention I'm already here and didn't come through customs. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I think so." That was the voice of Paige with a mission, Paige grateful for it. God, Jay. He was just a kid.

There's hugs, and some careful manoeuvring, like one of those muddled up picture games, and then they're gone, and it's just him and Jubilee again. He's exhausted, like he hasn't gone to bed yet. Jubilee flops back down on her sleeping bag, kicking the end out as a seat for him. He joins her, and wonders what happened to his tea.

"Geez, I just couldn't stop thinking about it," Jubilee says. "I could barely look at him."

Having apparently come in halfway along this train of thought, Jono asks, "What?"

"You know," Jubilee says. "Warren. He was one if Apocalypse's henchmen, way back. I just had these mental images of you, I don't know, claiming him, or something. Making him your horseman. Your bee-yatch."

Jono is very, very glad Jubilee has decided to stay. He doesn't stop laughing until he's wheezing and his whole body hurts and he's spilt his tea and he can't sit up and he can't see for the tears. It's fucking *brilliant*.

4

She's hungry. She's starving. She's ravenous.

Or, as she puts it to Jono, "Oi'm bluddy famished."

He flicks her on the forehead.

"What time is it?" she asks.

Jono pulls a watch out of a pocket. The strap is broken. "'alf three," he says.

"Sounds like breakfast time," she grins. Jono just shakes his head, and there's something in the set of his mouth - easier to read now his lips are highlighted in that really nasty shade of blue - that makes Jubes pause. "Lunch?" she says.

"Time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so."

Jubilee roles her eyes. Jono's shut down now, she knows this look. He's staring down, and he's drawn in on himself. He's not moving at all. Apparently talking about food makes him depressed. Or something.

"How about some of that pasta?" she says. She gets no reply, no reaction. "I'll go put some pasta on, then," she says.

They've not really done anything since the morning. Jono played with his guitars a bit, and she read a few more of his books. Jubilee gets the impression this is how Jono spends most of his days. She guesses he's given up looking for work, and that's fair enough, but she can't understand how he can just sit there. She *hates* boredom. She wants to be busy. She wraps her mind around cooking, for now, and when watching water boil can't hold her attention she thinks of things she and Jono could do.

While the pasta's boiling, she goes in search of things to put on it.

She's on her second round of the cupboards when Jono finally says, "It's not worth it, luv."

"You could have said before," she objects.

"You seemed set on `aving pasta," Jono replies.

"We haven't even got any butter," Jubilee sighs. She glares at the pasta on the hob.

"I'm not hungry."

"I bet you aren't." Jubilee sighs, and debate whether to bother with the pasta at all. She is hungry, but whether she's going to be able to eat dry pasta is another matter. That little, irritating voice in the back of her head tells her not to be so fussy. She tells it to shut up. She remembers how she used to get her kicks. Maybe now, she actually has an excuse. Jono won't object, right?

"If I turn it off now, and heat it up again later, it'll still be alright, right?" she asks Jono.

He stands up, apparently feeling a bit better, or at least a bit curious. "That, or one big sticky, starchy lump," he says. He sounds like he'd actually like to know which. Jubilee has a moment of triumph.

"I was thinking of going out and grabbing a bite," she says casually. Jono's expression immediately sours, and she can see him going into shut down again.

"No money," he mumbles.

"I wasn't thinking of spending any," she replies tartly.

Jono raises his head slowly, and Jubilee swears that if his eyes weren't the sort to constantly glow now, they'd have lit up. She beams at him.

"I've got my skates," she says.

"No point making a quick getaway if yer don't know where yer going," Jono says.

"So show me," she says.

#

It's brilliant. It's absolutely brilliant. It's fast and fun and there's shouting but they're leaving them way behind. Jono's boots are thumping on the pavement, he's running flat out. He loses his scarf. She jumps down the steps and almost loses her balance; it's been too long. Jono pauses, but she doesn't stop. She trusts him. There's a crack, and then the sound of thumping feet again, and then something else. And he's beside her, riding a bicycle, a chain still hanging from its frame.

They stop by a small park. There's a playground and a couple of stunted trees. One of the swings has been wound right around the frame, but nothing's been set fire to.

Jono dumps the bike by the gate, and Jubilee skates over to a bench. She undoes the skates and pulls her feet free. Her socks are soaked through with sweat, and blood at the heel. She winces, and works on pulling the socks off.

"Ouch," says Jono.

"I totally haven't been using these enough," Jubilee says. "So, what'd we get?"

"I got two tins of pineapple, a tin of custard and some breadcakes," Jono said.

"Breadcakes?"

Jono held up the buns. "You?"

"Six billion candy bars!" Jubilee said, opening her coat with a flourish. "Plus, some ham. Oh, and butter. Because we can put that on the ball of pasta." Jono had experimented while Jubilee put her skates on.

"Ham sarnies, and pineapple and custard," Jono says, sounding satisfied. "Sounds almost like a meal."

"And candy for breakfast tomorrow." Jubilee pulls her feet up onto the bench and began to tear open the plastic packet of ham.

"I haven't done that in fucking years," Jono says. "Christ." He opens the packet of bread buns and starts to slice them in half with his knife. He butters them awkwardly, the cold butter hard and stubborn.

They eat in silence. It's comfortable. Jono looks better out here in the open air, Jubilee thinks. There's a bit of colour in his cheeks, to her surprise. He's grinning as he eats. He chews with his mouth open. Jubilee pulls a face at him, and starts to imitate and exaggerate. Jono promptly shuts his mouth.

It's nice. Bit cold. And her feet hurt. But it's nice. Jono looks comfortable, and while they're getting some looks, no one seems to want to cause trouble. That's what being a mutant's about now: it's not hated and feared, it's pitied and sympathised with. She hates it.

Jono might not be a telepath any more (seriously, `*might*' - how's she supposed to tell?), but he obviously picks up something's wrong. She watches him open his mouth and close it again, watches him move like he might just lay a hand on her, and watches him sink back into himself, the only sign of his concern the way he watches her through his fringe.

"We should have grabbed you another scarf," she says.

He shrugs. "I'm not cold." There's almost something defensive about his voice. Jubilee forces a smile, and finishes her sandwich.

She tries to get back to the `nice' place. Kids are playing on the swingset. A couple of mothers, younger than Jubilee, are chatting amiably. The air is crisp, but not too cold. Shoplifting was exhilarating. She's not hungry any more.

Jono nudges her to get her attention, and hands her a tin of pineapple. He's opened it with his knife, the edge is ragged.

"Bet that blunted the blade a bit," she says.

Jono shrugs. "What else am I going t' do with it?" he asks. "No one's going t' pick a fight with me now."

"Must be nice," Jubilee says.

Jono utters a single noise that, if repeated, might have been part of a cynical laugh. "I'd be surprised by anyone who could take y' down, even now. Yer training didn't bugger off just because yer powers did." He offers her a rueful smile. "Wish I could do `alf the stuff you could. Made one attempt at the splits, right, and split me trousers."

Jubilee giggles, as much to show she's listening as to acknowledge Jono's trying to be funny. She feels like she's pretending to be herself. Maybe, if she pretends for long enough, she'll be herself again.

"Come on, pet, spill it," Jono says with a sigh. He does reach out this time, places a hand on her shoulder. It's all Jubilee can do not to curl up against him. She's not scared she'll cry; she can tell, and this isn't one of those times. She just feels tired.

"Jetlag," she says, yawning. "'movertired."

"I'll bet," Jono says. "Come on, then. Y' can `ave my bed for the afternoon, if y' want."

She reaches down to put her boots back on, but Jono sticks a hand in the way.

"No point making those blisters worse," he says.

"Yeah, `cause walking home without socks, that'll make my feet all better," Jubilee snaps. A bubble of guilt bursts inside her, and she stares at the ground.

Jono's laugh is forced, and too loud, but it makes its point.

"I'll give y' a lift," he says. "Carry yer."

Jubilee considers this. She thinks about what the old her would have said. It's a tie between "on the shoulders!" and "No!"

She says, "Alright. Piggyback?"

"Yeah."

5

He can see her nipples through her bra.

It takes him a moment to register that Jubilee's speaking because, *oh his god*, he can see her nipples.

It hadn't really occurred to him that Jubilee has nipples before.

Her breasts are small, pert and upturned. Her nipples are very dark. The plain white bra she's wearing is worn thin with age. Could easily be one of the first she ever bought, if Jono's any judge of these things. It's more of a grey than a white now, but still a contrast to her skin. She's wearing a pair of his boxers, too, been using them as pyjamas. Not that she asked.

He wonders if she's noticed he's staring.

"Dude," she's saying, "I totally need to do laundry."

He nods. He remembers that he has no pupils. Christ, she really can't tell he's staring. He almost laughs.

"Want me t' lend yer a t-shirt?" he asks.

"Yeah, that'd be good."

He goes to grab another t-shirt from the box of clean clothes. It's almost empty, while the box of dirty clothes looks like it might obtain sentient life any day now. Jubilee's right about laundry. He chucks a t-shirt out to her, and starts going through various pockets for change. He's on the third pair of jeans before he strikes lucky: £2.50.

"How much cash have yer got?" he asks, wandering back out of his room. Jubilee has the t-shirt on; it almost reaches her knees. He can't see her nipples through it, and chides himself for looking. Jubes is a mate. She's also one of Paige's best friends. He's pretty certain there's some sort of girl code there.

It's only been a week. A good week, but he's not sure if that's Jubilee's presence or not. He wonders how she'll cope when it's bad. He tries not to think about it too much; he doesn't want to trigger a bad spell. Because, overall, it's been good. They've talked - it's weird having someone to talk to here. They've listened to music and read books and talked about really dumb, inconsequential things. Neither of them wants to talk about the big stuff. But that's okay. And Jubilee keeps things clean. And they've nicked stuff, which was fun. He's surprised he'd forgotten how much fun it is.

She's cute, is Jubilee. She's also stealing his belt from around his waist. He watches her.

"I have no pants," she says. "I need to make this look like a dress."

It doesn't matter how long he spent in America, Jono still translates that word in a very English way. And after staring at her tits... He shakes his head. What's wrong with him today?

Well, aside from it being four months, two weeks and - no, he's not going to finish that calculation - since he last got laid. Night before he moved out of Gayle's place. And that's really not that long. He's gone far longer. Maybe he just got used to it again. Maybe it's just having a mouth again. He'd forgotten what kissing was like; Gayle hadn't been impressed by his desire to just curl up on the couch and put her through an eight hour skin-chafing lip-cracking dehydrating make out session like they were teenagers. And, well, sex was more satisfying, but he'd missed kissing. Girls like Sugar had made sure he hadn't missed sex.

His trousers were falling down. Jubilee was looking amused.

"How much cash `ave yer got?" he asked again. "I've got enough for one wash."

"You only need one wash," she tells him. "All your clothes are black." She digs out her wallet, and empties it onto the sleeping bag. There's a bunch of quarters in there, and about £1.50 in mixed silver.

"Right," he says. "We've got one wash, and one dry, between us. Well, mostly dry."

"Shit, really?" Jubilee is staring at her bag full of clothes.

Jono shrugs. "It'll be fine." He's never bothered separate out his clothes. And, for Jubilee's information, he does actually possess clothes of a variety of colours. Some of his boxers used to be white. "It's not like yer need a bright white shirt fer work."

"I don't have any white shirts," Jubilee says.

"Come on," Jono says with a nod towards the door.

The nearest laundrette is a bit of a walk, and the bottom of Jono's box gives up halfway across the `park'. Jubilee mocks him, saying that she hadn't believed his underwear could actually get dirtier. He dumps it, twigs and dust and worms and all, into her bag. They go on.

The washing machines are huge, easily big enough for all their washing combined. He keeps the temperature cool; his social conscience is as much a matter of habit than any real feeling. Plus, he hates people who say "well, just one person won't make a difference" and leave their TV on all night, or whatever. Like they're the only person in the universe to do it. It's a fucking stupid justification, and he tells Jubilee this, until she starts yawning pointedly.

There are other people using the laundrette. They are noticing that Jubilee is just wearing a t-shirt. It gets some smiles, some sniffs, and some idiots coming over to them.

"'ullo. Nice nightie," says a greasy looking bloke. "Yer boyfriend lets yer go out like that? Likes t' share yer, does he?"

"Shove off," Jubilee says. "He's not my boyfriend, either."

Jono winces. The greasy bloke grins.

"So yer in the market, then?"

"Shove off," Jubilee repeats, smiling sweetly. "I have anger issues."

Greasy seems a little unsure of what to do with this.

"If you don't shove off, I'm going to raise my foot quickly. Do you see where my foot is?"

Greasy looked down. Jubilee is slumped down in the seat, one foot tucked under, the other stretched out. She's wearing oversized trainers, neon pink with yellow stars she's stuck on herself. Her foot is right between Greasy's legs.

Greasy. Is. Thick. Jono knew from the moment he walked in. An easy to identify type. Not actually retarded, just under the impression that `street smartz' made up for common sense.

He looks to Jono. Because, obviously, a girl couldn't actually be a threat.

Jubilee kicks Greasy. Greasy takes a swing at Jono.

There is a mess of action, and Greasy is bent backwards over one of the washers, held in place by Jono and punched by Jubilee. One of his lips is bleeding. Jono and Jubilee exchange a look, and let him up. He goes for Jono again.

He's bent over the washer again, and Jono sighs.

"Look, mate," he says. "We don't want trouble. Catch a hint."

"And if you want to pick a fight with me, pick it with me," Jubilee added.

"Yer may `ave gathered," Jono went on, leaning in as close to Greasy's ear as he could stand, "we're not quite ordinary. We've been in a superhero team."

"Oh, ex mutants," Greasy said. "Wouldn't touch yer anyway," he says, spitting at Jubilee. She and Jono stand back, and Greasy makes his exit.

"Great," Jubilee says, huffing hair out of her eyes, "I'm not even good enough for scum."

They're almost touching anyway, and it's Jubes. She's a mate. He slides an arm around her waist, and tells the part of him that's so used to freaking out, that's so convinced he's going to explode and kill her, that it's okay now. She leans against him. He gets a noseful of her hair. It needs washing.

"Yer too good fer me," he says, and it sounds fucking trite to his own ears.

Jubilee doesn't say anything, just reached an arm up and strokes his hair, hand at an awkward angle. Jono holds her a little tighter.

"We're as good as each other," Jubilee says eventually. He's getting to know this tone of voice now. This is world weary Jubilee. It breaks his heart to hear her like this, but it doesn't creep him out as much as when she forces herself to sound cheerful.

At some point they separate, and sit down again. They don't talk. Jono wishes the mood would change, but he's not capable of it, and Jubilee doesn't want to. The temptation to put his arm around her again ebbs and swells, but he never does it. They move their clothes to the drier. They sit down again.

When the drier pings, Jubilee leaps up with a little squeak. It makes Jono jump; he was almost asleep. She's digging through their washing, chucking his aside and onto the dusty floor. With a flourish, she pulls out a pair of trousers and waves them at Jono triumphantly. He watches her put them on, flashing her knickers to everyone in the laundrette. Hot pink, and Jono's glad they don't match her bra, because there'd be something wrong with the world if Jubilee, of all the girls he knows, got dressed in the morning thinking about making sure her underwear matched.

Now she's smiling, he is too. It's easy, and he isn't sure why everything was so dull and quiet for so long now.

"They're so warm," Jubilee says, spinning on the spot. "Oh, I am so doing this every week. Totally makes laundry worthwhile."

He grins, and puts that arm around her shoulders. Again, why such the big deal? It's *Jubilee*.

He wonders, as they walk past the skip, if they'd have seen the couch had Jubilee not discovered the joy of warm trousers. If they'd both have been staring at the ground, or both too morose to think of mentioning it.

Instead, Jubilee stops him. They walk over to the skip together, and he gives her a leg up.

"This is totally still good," she says. "I think maybe one of the springs has gone-" she sits down and almost disappears, knees around her ears "- but otherwise its fine. No mega stains or anything, and the only rips are in unimportant places."

"Where we gonna put it?" Jono asks. He's really too tempted to care, but it's his vinyl collection that'll suffer.

"We stick your records in your room, til we get those shelves. Wait, hang on..." She clambers down the sofa. "Nope, sorry. None in here."

"Is it gonna fit through the door?"

"It fit through theirs, right?" Jubilee waves vaguely at the block of flats behind her, almost identical to Jono's own.

Jono smiles. "Right then," he says, "you carry it, I'll hold the doors open. Ready?"

It's a wonderfully dirty look she gives him.

6

She loves having a sofa. She understands what was missing in her life before. She knows precisely why she was having trouble sleeping. So what if there's no long any floor space *whatsoever*, and Jono's boxes of records are crushing each other, and getting to the kitchen's a bit of an obstacle course while getting to the fire escape is impossible. Not that there's any risk of fire; the flat's damper than... than...

"...Emma's knickers when Sean walked into a room."

Jono pulls a face. She's glad to get that much out of him. Though she wishes she hadn't picked Banshee, now.

She sighs.

"Paige says that M says that Siryn, you know, Theresa, doesn't think her dad is dead. She's convinced he's going to come back."

Jono doesn't answer.

"I mean, it's not such a dumb theory, I'll give her that, but I think he's really dead. For now, at least."

Okay, not the best topic of conversation. Jono's clearly in a bad mood. He used to get like this, occasionally, she remembers. Just sorta quiet, and still. Emma would let him play hooky sometimes, just stay in bed all day. Jubilee figures as a telepath she knew something about Jono's state of mind the rest of them didn't. But then again, maybe Emma just hadn't wanted to deal with the psychic feedback.

She pokes Jono with a toe.

"You know what we need? We need a TV," she says.

Jono turns his head slowly. "Even if we got a set," he says, "we couldn't afford a licence."

Jubilee huffs and rolls her eyes. They need something. Is this really how Jono spent his days before she got here? Minus sofa, of course.

"You could play some music," she suggests.

"You could fuck off," Jono replies. There's no malice in the tone, there's not even any emotion, but she can tell he means it. She doesn't move, doesn't let herself flinch or curl up or react, really. Stands her ground. Jono gets up from the sofa slowly, and climbs over a box of records. He closes the door behind him, so she doesn't even see whether he goes into his room or the bathroom.

She can hear him, though. Hears him sit down on his bed. Hears him let his head fall back so he's lying down, and hears the `ouch' as he does so because the futon's really quite hard.

She punches the sofa. Her hand sinks into the unresisting material, and she feels the broken end of the spring inside. She punches it again.

How dare he? How *could* he? Does he think she's really feeling much better? Sean's dead. Ange is dead, and so's Ev, and so's most of the people she's ever met, or so it seems like. And she's powerless. She couldn't save her friends even if she wanted to now. And he's lying in there like he's the only one who ever angsted. Does he think she puts on the cheerful face for her own benefit?

She knows she's crying, but she doesn't care. She hates him. She's jealous of him. She stands on the sofa and looks around for her sneakers. She has lean and stretch to open the door to the `hall', and she has to jump from the arm of the chair to make it out the door without damaging any of Jono's precious records. She stomps down the hall and slams open the front door. She steps out.

She stands there for a moment. It's definitely fall. It's cold, and the air feels damp. The sky is dark grey, and she's pretty certain it's going to rain. Her coat is still indoors. The scrubby patch of ground is bare of people. Only one bench is still whole.

She doesn't want her coat. She pulls the door shut just as it begins to rain. Jono will have to let her in later; he's not done anything about getting a key cut for her. She starts down the concrete walkway towards the steps, the wind throwing the rain at her in intermittent gusts. It's heavy rain, huge wet drops that explode when they hit the ground.

Her thin pink top turns purple as the rain soaks through it, and she's freezing. She doesn't care, though. Her coat is yellow. Bright, cheerful, obnoxious yellow, her signature colour (along with hot pink - and she's so glad her halterneck is darker now it's wet) for years now. The idea of wearing it makes her stomach lurch, makes her want to start running or hitting something or just screaming, as long and as loud as she can. She swallows the urge, and smiles at the rain.

Jono wouldn't feel obliged to smile. She stops. She's down the steps now, and she walks out into the centre of the little park. Locates the unbroken bench. Sits down.

She knows she's crying because her tears are warm when the raindrops are cold. She doesn't really care. She doesn't feel angry any more, just sort of numb.

It's easy, sitting outside in the rain, thinking about the people she's lost, to feel sorry for herself. She revels in the feeling. And then she hates herself for it, because at least she's still here. So she lets the self-loathing swallow her, reminds herself that she's out here by choice, that she's martyring herself because she's pissed at Jono. She wants him to feel guilty. She feels guilty for wanting it. She feels angry at him for deserving it; envious of him because he can express his depression, in his own way; sorry for him because he doesn't seem to feel much else. Sorry for herself, because she's gone through just as much as him, but no one ever seems to want to acknowledge that. They take her at face value when she smiles. But that's her own fault, for always smiling. She hates herself.

And she goes round and round. At some point it gets dark. The rain is keeping most of the chavs (Jono taught her that word, and `pikey' too, though he struggles to explain the difference, and then there's `scally' and `townie' and she thinks this country has too many dumb dialects) at bay, though some determined young teens are gathered under gold umbrellas around one of the other benches. She wonders what she's doing that's making them so nervous of her, and wonders if she could patent it and sell it to the middle classes.

That's Jono, rubbing off on her. He makes jokes about the Daily Mail, and other newspapers. He listens to the Now Show and The News Quiz on the radio and watches Have I Got News For You at the pub, and most of the jokes go over Jubilee's head, but she can appreciate the mocking of the Hero Registration Act, which is a pretty common topic these days. She laughed when they said the mutants must finally be feeling vindicated, after years of attempts to pass the Mutant Registration Act and no one else standing up for them, and she'd agreed with a pang of guilt at the comment that all the mutants who were depowered are glad that M Day happened before the Civil War, and not after. Not that any of the comedians are mutants. Most of them, as Jono points out, are middle class, straight, white, human men, as most comedians have been for decades and decades in this country.

Jono's a bit of a class warrior, at heart, and Jubilee can't quite figure out how he ever reconciled that with dating Lady Gayle. Gayle's alright, she supposes. They don't see her often; can't afford to spend much time in the pub (HIGNFY viewing sessions aside, apparently). She's living in her Town House, Jono says, and laughs when he does because he used to live there too, without paying a penny in rent or bills. They used to busk together, and play at the pub and a few other venues, Jono says, to afford wild nights out and rare records and loads of instruments and a lot, a hell of a lot, of cool clothes. Jono keeps promising to take her to Camden, even if they can't afford anything. Jubilee is looking forwards to it.

It's stopped raining. She can see the moon. It's a half moon, and it's canted to one side. She's watched it before: it does that as it rises. She watched it in Australia. She watched it with Logan. She watched it on her own. She watched it, once, at the Massachusetts Academy.

She stands up and almost falls over. She's stiff like a long session in the Danger Room with no warm up or cool down. She can't feel her hands or feet, and her ankles aren't having it. She finds herself in the mud, inches thick now, unable to unbend. The pins and needles are excruciating as she forces herself to move her hands and feet. She tells herself she deserves it, and wonders if this is how Jono thinks, all day, every day.

Think of the devil. His hand appears in front of her, and she uses it to haul herself up. Her balance is still shot, and she's shivering now, uncontrollably.

Jono opens his mouth and closes it again as she looks at him. He's all tensed up. Totally freaked out and blaming himself.

"We have hot water, right?" Jubilee croaks, appalled at the way her voice sounds.

Jono nods. She lets go of his hand and straightens up. It's painful. She makes another attempt at walking, and falls into Jono's arms. He wraps them tightly around her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into her hair.

Jubilee hugs him back, forcing her feet into a position beneath her, so she can stand without help. Jono doesn't let go. The way his chest is hitching, Jubilee thinks he might be crying. This is a situation that deserves an expletive. `Shit' comes to mind.

She doesn't know how to tell him it's not his fault, not when it kinda is. But she's fine, really, just cold. A long hot bath will help. She's not mad at him. Or jealous, or pitying, or anything else that went through her mind earlier. She's not numb any more, either. Well, apart from literally.

"I'll runy'a bath," Jono says, helping her walk along. He's not meeting her eyes. She can almost see the weight inside of him.

"I just needed some time alone too," she tells him. It's mostly true. Or most of the truth. She's not sure. "Weather kinda suited my mood. Didn't mean to scare you or anything."

"D'n't mean t' shou' a'yer." He's barely opening his mouth. Jubilee wants to snap at him for mumbling.

"You didn't," she says firmly. "You're in a bad mood, and I can totally sympathise, and I should have shut up. I don't want a TV."

"'dbe more comp'ny th'n me," Jono says.

"And I no longer have any idea what you're saying," Jubilee announces. "Come on, I'm fine. I don't want you angsting over me. `cause I'll angst about that. And you'll angst about making me angst. Which'll make me angst. Which'll make you angst. Which'll-"

There's the faintest hint of a smile on Jono's face. His arm tightens around her.

"Don' know wha' I did before yer came along," he says quietly, and then looks at her.

Something in Jubilee's stomach flutters, and she holds tight to him.

7

He can't get up.

#

He tried to explain it to Sugar once.

Not Paige, because they never really got that close, and not Gayle, because back then he got angry instead of depressed. He guesses the therapists were right: the anger was masking his true feeling. Sometimes he misses the anger, but he doesn't miss the lack of control that went with it. Hitting his sisters, his friends, himself. Screaming. Getting in to fights he knew he could never win. Breaking things. That rising pressure in his chest, that burning, that feeling like he was about to explode if he didn't do *something*. That fear of that feeling.

But that wasn't what he explained to Sugar. No. What he explained was why he couldn't get out of bed.

It had been hard. He had no hope of doing when he was that bad, of course. His brain didn't really function then. The depression was a black hole, sucking in all of his thoughts, even the negative ones. He was just dark inside, empty. Hollowed out. He would just stare at the ceiling, and not think. Sometimes other people's thoughts would pass through his head. Everything inside of him stopped.

He'd described it to her as being inside an iron lung, a malfunctioning one. The pressure was too high, and unrelenting. He couldn't move for the weight bearing down on him. Breathing hadn't been an issue then. Now, he isn't sure if he does breathe, when he's that bad. It doesn't feel like he does. It doesn't feel like his heart is beating.

It's a sort of catatonia. It's like he goes away, except he doesn't. Something inside him goes away, but he's left behind. Like his mind. If he wasn't an atheist, he might say his soul. And there's just Jono left behind.

It's like dying. It's like being dead, but still aware. Nothing more, really, than aware.

So he doesn't move, when he's that bad. He told Sugar that he couldn't, in a very literal sense. And it can last for days.

He knows when it's coming. He feels worse and worse. More and more depressed. He'll keep thinking back to certain events: his sister breaking his new CD player, because he didn't deserve nice things. Seeing Gayle in the wheelchair for the first time. Meeting the heads of Clan Akkaba, and being reminded of his destiny. His sister telling him it's his fault dad left. Not telling his step dad that he was doing a good job, that he was an alright bloke, before he died.

It's when he starts believing Sharon that he knows he's in trouble. Akkaba fucked her up just as badly, making her both jealous and fearful of him, because now they had a boy they didn't need her any more. Not that either of them were needed; they were `just-in-cases' and the Clan had made sure they knew it. She thought he was evil. She tried to make him better. He tried to turn her son against her, he tried to hurt her physically and mentally, he ran away and left her on her own to cope with Tracey and Tom.

Shazza has always been right.

On a good day, he doesn't believe this. But he knows when he starts to doubt that he is heading for a bad time.

He doesn't deserve Jubilee. He's cruel to her. He's using her. He wants her to be cheerful, to cheer him up. He wants her to pretend she's fine, and to look after him. He doesn't want her to be hurting too. He gets angry when she does. He almost made her very ill. He doesn't deserve someone as good as Jubilee living in his home. He can't even provide for her properly. She can't work in this country. He can, but he isn't. He used to be able to make good money busking. Two grand one week, close to Christmas. But he's not doing it now.

She deserves better than this. She lost her parents at thirteen, poor kid. He still has his, even if he feels no great affection for them. Well, maybe a little for mum, but he doesn't even remember his dad. He doesn't care. He doesn't miss them, they way he bets Jubilee misses hers.

These are the sort of thoughts he falls asleep thinking, and when he wakes up he's not thinking any more. Maybe it's self-defence.

He explained it to Sugar, once. He'll explain it to Jubilee, some day. Some events in between have enlightened him to a few things. He doesn't have to eat or piss or anything, when he's like this. It's like he's further removed from his body than when he was in the coma. He'd *liked* the coma.

This is a different darkness.

#

He's aware. He's aware that Jubilee comes into his room from time to time. She talks to him. He's aware that night falls. He's aware the sun comes up. He's aware of the cup of tea Jubilee places beside him.

He's aware the sun goes down.

"You're freaking me out.

"You are freaking me out so much, and I knew to expect this. I bugged Emma about it once, when you skipped lessons, and she kinda explained it. And I've asked Gayle, and she mentioned it.

"Just, feel better soon, alright?"

#

"Okay, you're going to die of thirst if I don't do something, I swear. Three days is ridiculous. You want me to get you committed? I'll totally get you committed.

"Dude, get up.

"Seriously, dude, get up.

"Oh, ugh. You totally stink."

#

"You have a nice penis."

He jerks. One hand moves to cover himself, before he remembers he's got boxers on. Never used to bother, but Jubilee isn't one to knock.

He remembers. He's thinking.

Jubilee is smiling nervously at him.

"Come on," she coaxes. "Just try and make it to the sofa, okay? It reeks in here. I want to do your laundry."

She shouldn't. He wants to tell her that. He doesn't deserve this niceness. She should make him do it himself.

"I made you a cup of tea, and I think this one's even drinkable."

He wants to curl up. He wants to go back. He doesn't deserve this. He's a wretched excuse for a human being. He's tainted. He's useless. She should leave him. He doesn't deserve her. Everything is his fault.

"Please, Jono," she says. "I can't... I don't know what to do. Gayle says this doesn't normally last this long. It's my fault, and I'm sorry. I'm doing my best to make up for it."

She sounds broken and desperate. She sounds like she's crying.

"It's not your fault I was an idiot the other night. Please get up, Jono."

He has to tell her she's wrong.

"I want to help you. I don't know why I'm here otherwise. If I'm making things worse for you, just say and I'll go. I'm being selfish by staying. I just... I just thought I could... I don't know."

It's takes a force of will he didn't know he possessed, but he sits up. Slowly, he rolls over, and he kneels on the floor. He has to stand up. Standing up is a primary component of walking.

"Oh, thank you."

He has to do this for her. He has to get better, so he can tell her this isn't her fault. Come on, Jono. This is always the hardest part, when he wakes up. Just staying there, not rolling over and losing himself again. None of the problems have gone away, and of course he still wants to hide from them. Just stand up. He has to do something, something to shift it. He has to do something to make just a tiny little bit of it go away, so he can start to cope again.

"'ms'ry," he says, and it's not so much a word as a collection of unaffiliated consonants. He's standing. He's standing and he's staring at her and she *is* crying, and he feels wretched. What sort of a person makes Jubilee cry?

She hugs him, tightly. Her face is pressed to the tattoo, and he can feel her tears run down his chest. She's shaking. He's scared her. He's terrified her.

The guilt weighs down on him, and he can feel himself slipping away, disassociating himself. He stops himself.

"Not yer fault," he croaks. He hugs her back.

She helps him to the couch, and hands him his tea. He spills most of it, and feels like a stupid, useless idiot.

He falls asleep.

#

He wakes a few times over the next few days. Staggers to the bathroom once or twice. Eats the food Jubilee leaves for him. Curls up in the sleeping bag she's draped over him.

He doesn't see her.

#

The radio is on. It's the news at eight o' clock. BBC Radio Four, and those little familiar pips. It's comforting. He eats the apple and cheese and buttered bread, and drinks the cold tea. He goes for a slash.

He stands in the hallway. He realises, with a faint shock, that he's not tired. After a couple of days' almost solid sleep, it's not surprising. But sleep had been another escape.

He tests himself. He pokes the corner of his mind, asks himself painful questions, faces painful truths.

He doesn't want to escape, right now. He doesn't want to deal with it either. He's not waving, but he's not drowning any more. He feels guilty, and depressed, and stupid, but he doesn't want to curl up into a ball. He doesn't want to break things or hurt himself. He doesn't want to jump around and laugh and caper, or whatever it is joyful people are meant to do, but he doesn't want to never want to, either.

He wants... he wants to see Jubilee.

There are noises coming from his bedroom. He guesses she must have been sleeping in there.

She not sleeping, that's for sure. She's standing on tiptoes on the opposite side of the room, balancing something on top of a bookshelf.

That's funny. He doesn't own any bookshelves.

"What's up?" he asks, voice hoarse with disuse.

She wobbles and turns. She beams at him.

"Well, when I washed your sheets, I thought I might as well do a tidy up while I was here. And while I was tidying, I thought I might as well get something to tidy things into. And... Ta-dah!"

He stands in the doorway, a little stunned. There's two bookshelves. Between them there's a pole. It's not exactly Laurence Llewelyn Bowen's wet dream, but it's more furniture than Jono ever expected to own.

His futon is shoved up against the near wall, to make space for the shelves, which touch it. He'd forgotten it could fold into a seat. The shelves are deep. One bookshelf is full of his LPs. So is the bottom shelf on the right one. Next two shelves are CDs, the next is some CDs, some books, and a row of random crap, and the final top one is books. The pole is balanced on top of the two book shelves, and between them hang most of his clothes, like a naked wardrobe. Beneath his clothes are two boxes, one labelled `clean', the other `dirty'. The `i' in `dirty' is dotted with a star.

Against the front wall his guitars are lined up, and his other instruments. Without the boxes filling the room, Jono discovers a lot of things he'd forgotten he owns. A collection of unusual beer glasses. A very old Singer sewing machine he'd got for twenty quid at a charity shop. A stack of notebooks and music sheets. The broken window on the opposite side is covered by a large poster of Johnny Rotten.

"Fuck me," he says, a little awed.

Jubilee giggles. Jono remembers he's still not wearing anything apart from his boxers, which he's now been wearing for five days straight. Shit.

"So you like it?" she asks.

"Where'd yer get the shelves from?" Jono asks, walking across his bed to study them. They're cheap MDF, probably from IKEA or Homebase or something. Still more than he could afford new. He has a sinking feeling.

"The skip," she says.

"Liar."

"The pole came from there," she replies, sounding a little defensive.

"Where did the shelves come from?" His voice is cold and harsh. He winces internally. He doesn't sound grateful.

Jubilee sighs. "Fine," she says. "Be that way."

He catches her arm before she can move. Jerks it so she stumbles close to him, and enfolds her in a hug. He wishes he'd showered.

"Thank you," he says. "Alright? Thank you. I *am* grateful. It looks brilliant, Jubes. More'an I deserve."

"It's not," she tells him fiercely. "It's not more than you deserve."

"I just want t' know what yer did to do it," he explains. "I'm worried yer've done too much. I *don't* deserve it, I don't deserve yer, not after yer worked so hard just t' keep me from fading away. That's more than any person oughta have t'do fer another."

Jubilee laughs, in a sad sort of way. She has her face buried in his chest again, and she's hugging him warmly. He squeezes her gently.

"It's not," she repeats. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here. It was selfish of me, okay? I was being selfish. I need you to need me, and if you die, well, you won't need me any more then, will you?"

"I do need yer," he says.

"Logan stuck a bit of money in my account, for emergencies. He knows better than to baby me, so it wasn't much. I was hanging on to it in case they caught me here and fined you, or something. Or we needed to put rent down somewhere else, or pay for electricity, or food, or something.

"I didn't spend much. Forty pounds, in total. Just the shelves and the taxi back here. So don't freak, okay? You've spent way more on me just with me living here. Just on food and water and stuff. So I owed ya."

"How much did is there left?" Jono asks.

"About two hundred bucks," Jubilee sighs.

"Bucks or quid?"

"Quid." She smiles up at him. "I'll get used to it eventually. Honestly, you'll be part of the Euro soon anyway-"

"Blasphemy! Treason!" Jono pulls away and points a finger at her. He's grinning, and she laughs.

"I didn't organise anything," she says, "just shoved it on the shelf. I thought you'd want to sort it out yourself. High Fidelity taught me guys like you like that."

He didn't think his smile could get any broader, but it does. He loves this girl.

"I fucking..." he laughs. "Yer brilliant, you are."

She blushes. "Thanks."

"Yer didn't have t' do this." He reaches out for her again. He's beginning to get used to this hugging lark.

"I know. That's kinda why I did," she says.

He hugs her again, and nuzzles her hair. "Yer fucking brilliant," he murmurs. "I don't deserve yer, but fucked if I'm lettin' yer get away now."

She chuckles happily, and kisses his shoulder.

"You need a shower," she says.

8

She was scared that he'd accuse her of displacement activities again. She'd been too worried about him when he was all catatonic, but once he was getting better it had been hard to be on her own. The problem was their situation kept reminding her of living with Ange, even if the place she'd had with him had been far larger and better furnished. It hadn't looked like it then, but in retrospect, it was a decent place.

But it had been okay. He's showering now, and Jubilee's aware she probably ought to get out of his room, because he'll want to, you know, get dressed and stuff, but she doesn't want to give it up just yet. She pokes at the books on the shelf. She shakes a pillow until it begins to look a little more pillow shaped. She adjusts the poster that's covering the broken window.

He's leaning in the doorway, towel round his waist. She's wills him to drop it, just for a second. Well, maybe longer than a second.

She always had this theory, see, that telepaths couldn't just influence the thoughts of those around them, but could be influenced by them too. So, if this had been the old Jono, maybe if she'd willed it just hard enough, he would have dropped the towel.

He's raising an eyebrow at her. She realises he probably thinks she was just staring. She doesn't care, and sticks her tongue out. He sticks his out back, and boy if that isn't a surreal experience. Jono with a tongue.

The smile's pretty weird too. Especially so with the creepy blue lips. But she's getting the hang of seeing past those now, of recognising his facial expressions despite the way they pull his skin strangely. It's a really cute little smile he's got on. Sort of impish. Sort of awed. Like a kid who's so proud of getting his own room for the first time, not sharing with a sibling.

Not a feeling she can directly relate to, of course. She slides past Jono in the doorway - still wet and warm and smelling of imperial leather soap - and lets him get on with getting dressed. She's still thinking, though. She doesn't think about the time before her parents died much. About her old friends. Friends who did have siblings, and had been proud to get their own room, like CynJen. She wonders what she's doing now. Second year at college, she supposes. Keg parties. Cramming for finals. Fraternities and Sororities. Classroom debates about the Hero Registration Act. Getting laid.

She's never going to have any of that, and she's fiercely happy about it.

She's hears Jono's door open, and then the front door. She has a moment of absolute panic. She scrabbles among the boxes (fewer in here than before, but still enough to build a decent coffee table out of) and finds the radio. Puts it on. The noise helps.

So, where was she? She was happy. Yeah, she is happy. That she's not at college. All that work, all that money, just for some bit of paper. She didn't go to High School, she saved the world.

Not that she can do that any more, except in rather more prosaic ways. Which, it's generally believed, you need a college education to do.

But she's still got an independence they won't have. She's not living off mummy and daddy's money. Just Jono's. Well, the English Government's. But still. She's not wasting her life getting drunk and laid. She's not doing much of anything, really.

She has a sudden urge to get laid. To lose her virginity. It was never even an option back at the Institute. Logan would have killed whoever she slept with. No one really wanted to date her, not with all the X-Men glowering at them.

Angelo had. She turned him down.

She has the presence of mind to lock herself in the bathroom while she cries. Jono gets back, and she hears him wandering around. Hears him put the kettle on, and hears him start cooking something. Hears him go into his room.

She wipes her face and splashes it with cold water. Wipes it again, feeling a little stupid. Blinks at herself in the mirror, is grateful for the fact that she's not one of those people who goes all blotchy and puffy and red when they cry (like Paige, in fact), and goes out to face Jono.

He's standing in his doorway. He looks sort of nervous, and hopefully. She regards him suspiciously.

"Yer wanna hang out in my room?" he asks.

She smiles. He's so proud, so like a kid.

"Course," she says. "You think I did all that work just for you?"

There's two cups of tea on the floor, and two plates of bacon sandwiches. Bacon butties, he says. He hovers, letting her sit down on the futon, and pick a plate and mug for herself. He's playing host, she realises. Oh god, this is just too cute. She'll totally tease him about it later. But not now, because she's starving, now she thinks about it.

It's the expensive bread, a proper loaf from the bakers. Crunchy crusts and really soft, white bread. The bacon's good too, not too salty. Just butter, no ketchup, as she likes it. The tea is hot and sweet and perfect. It's raining outside, and dark, but it's warm and bright in here. She shifts over to make space for Jono. He's brought the radio in, and it's playing something by Eva Cassidy.

"I got us a couple of papers," he says, using his foot to pull them across the floor. The Metro, free, and the Independent, not. "Thought we could, dunno, do a bit of a job hunt."

A job. Exactly what she needs. She hopes the visa arrives soon. Leaving the national paper to Jono, who clearly isn't looking for a job and just wants to read about how the Labour party are fucking it up this time. The Metro's local, though, or local-er, and mostly devoid of real news.

There's a couple of calls for bar staff, some waitressing, and some deadly dull shop work. Jono nudges her, and she knows from the look on his face he's just thought of something bad.

"It'll have t' be cash in hand, pet," he says. "Otherwise they'll twig yer living here, and we'll be in the shit."

She sighs. "So, totally not the sort of job that'd be in the paper."

He shakes his head. "Either that, or something well paid enough t' get us a real place."

And that's a really tempting idea. Apart from the fact she's got no qualifications. Or a visa.

"You want to look?" she asks. "I mean, at least it's legal for you to work here."

He grimaces. He takes the Metro from her, and skims the column. He looks really unenthusiastic about it.

"What'd y' do, while I wasn't here?" he asks. He looks at the paper. "I don't want t' leave yer here on yer own," he says.

Jubilee takes the newspaper back from him. She's glad he said it, and not her.

"I guess it's up to me, then," she says quietly. "What about the pub? You think you could persuade them not to tell?"

"The Seahorse?" Jono smiles wryly. "Yeah, I probably could, but they're not looking fer anyone right now." He sighs. "It's a shame an' all, coz there's something perfect fer yer in here," he says, tapping the Metro.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'd look so cute in a little apron, carrying a tray," she replies.

"Nah, not that. Self defence instructor," he tells her, opening the paper in her hands and leaning over to point it out. "Yer've definitely got the experience," he says.

"But not the qualifications," she points out.

"It's still worth a shot," Jono argues.

"No visa," she point out, raising her hands. "Illegal immigrant, remember?"

Jono looks disappointed. It worries Jubilee for a moment. He's meant to have cheered up.

"It'll come through soon," she assures him. "I can go and fail the interview miserably then." She smiles. "There's always the open mic nights at the pub. Maybe you'll be spotted by some talent scout, and become hugely famous."

Jono snorts. "If I wanted that, I'd call Marty, Sugar's agent."

"Seriously?" Jubilee says, sitting up straight. "You could just do that?"

"Not quite that simple," Jono says dryly. "He could probably get me some studio time, if I asked. Yer know," he said, looking up at her, "I wrote some of Sugar's songs. I get royalties and everything."

"Cool," she says, not really sure what to make of this claim. "Which ones?"

Jono smirks. "What are her only number ones?" he asks. Jubilee laughs.

"Very cool," she assures him. "So you, like, write your own stuff? Can I hear some?"

It's a dangerous question, but Jono still seems to feel he owes her, or something, because he grabs one of his guitars without argument. She watches him tune it, scooting up against the wall to give him more space. Anticipation wriggles in her stomach.

He starts to sing.

*I'm Relationshit:  
Just can't do it.  
Fucking it up  
Bit by Bit.  
If you look inside my chest  
There's no heart beating in it  
Because I'm relationshit.

I blew up at you and ran away  
And the guilt gets worse each and every day  
But I can't come back,  
I know what you'll say,  
That I'm relationshit.*

He goes back into what Jubilee figures is the chorus again. It's good. She can sort of imagine drums behind it, and a base line. She wonders if Jono's imagining it, and projecting it. The next two verses are as clearly about Paige as the first was about Gayle, there's a bridge, a key change, and he finishes on Sugar.

She claps as he strums the final chords. He's smiling, but she doesn't think her applause has anything to do with it, not judging by the way he's staring at the guitar. He's holding it gently, almost embracing it. His lips are slightly parted, his red eyes wide. Like it's an ex girlfriend who's just admitted she still has feelings for him. Or ex boyfriend, Jubilee isn't going to judge.

"Sing something," Jono says.

"What?"

"Sing something. Anything." He pauses, and clarifies, "something I know."

Jubilee wants to oblige, but they don't exactly have a lot of music in common. She plays it safe, and goes for a Queen song. Something that's mostly the guitars.

"Um. This thing, called love. I just can't handle it."

Jono smiles at her. He's already picked up the tune.

"This thing, called love, I must get round to it. I ain't ready. Crazy little thing called love."

She can't remember all the words, but Jono joins in to fill in the gaps. It's fun. It's just the two of them, Jubilee reminds herself. She jumps into `You're My Best Friend' with more confidence. They do Bowie's `Life on Mars'. They do Jono Mitchell's `Big Yellow Taxi', and Elton John's `Rocket Man' and, naturally, `American Pie'.

She's grinning like an idiot when Jono puts the guitar down, and he's smiling at her too.

"Yer good," he says.

She laughs. "I'm not," she tells him. "I'm alright, at best. When no one's listening."

"Nah, I think yer'd do alright with a small audience," he says. She doesn't like where this is going. "One that wasn't really paying attention."

"What?" Jubilee asks, letting her suspicion colour her tone.

"Just a bit of busking," Jono says innocently. "Bit of fun. We'd get enough for a night out."

"You might. I'm not going anywhere," Jubilee says firmly. "You sing way better than me, anyway."

"Not with a scarf wrapped round m' gob," Jono points out. "Come on, Jubes. Yer can't tell me yer didn't enjoy that."

"Yeah," she says, "here, with you. Just you." That sounds a bit... She tries not to blush. "It'd be different in public," she insists.

Jono looks kinda disappointed, but also something else. She can't place it. Disbelieving? Bemused?

"Yer were always the outgoing one," he says. "Yer loved showing off."

"Stuff's changed," she huffs at him.

"Sometimes that's a bad thing."

She blinks at him. He looks so serious. It's weird. The disappointment's gone from his face. She doesn't know what took its place. She reaches up and touches his cheek, and then realises she's doing it, and almost takes her hand away. But she's touching that blue line, and it's clearly sensitive because Jono's kinda quivering. It's raised, just a little. Like a scar. Like that sealant for the bathroom tiles, like they glued him back together and sealed him up. She runs her hand down it, so her fingers are on his lips. She raises her other hand to her own.

She doesn't think about closing her eyes. She's too wrapped up in the difference in texture. But suddenly there's another pressure on her lips, and she can't keep them shut. Jono's touching her mouth the way she's touching his. He meets her eyes. He smiles slightly.

She knows this feeling. In her experience, this feeling never ends well.

"Yeah," she says, taking his fingers with her as she talks, "change can be a bad thing."

He swallows, and pulls his hand back, shaking his head to dislodge hers. He looks down at his guitar.

"So yer'll do it?" he asks.

She realises she doesn't have any choice. She nods.

9

He's grateful when she goes to bed. He can relax now. He doesn't have to keep smiling for her.

He does appreciate what she's done, he really does, but it's not making him feel any less guilty for `leaving' her like that. But he thinks he might understand her better now: being cheerful for someone else is hard work.

The busking is a good idea, he reminds himself. He's not exactly spent much on food this week, so they should be able to afford a licence easy enough. They'll start somewhere quietish, let her get used to it. He harbours fantasies of playing in the underground again, now they've legalised it. He could make a mint down there.

But he doesn't have to think about Jubilee any more. She's not here. She's sleeping, finally. He can wallow in his own misery, without worrying about hers.

It's funny, but it's getting hard to draw the line. Of course, all the mutant stuff, and Gen X, and his life now; those make it hard to get away from her. But it's weird, because he's not feeling so guilty about Gayle tonight, or his family, or the state of the world in general.

He does feel guilty about almost kissing her.

He needs to get laid. It's that simple. He should just call Gayle, explain the situation to her, and see how she feels. Reinstate the arrangement they had before he moved out. He's just obsessing over the mouth thing again, that's all. It's Jubilee's fault, anyway, with all that touching. He supposes she finds it weird too.

He should check on her. It's the least her can do, after she's kept watch over him.

He stands in the doorway. She *is* sleeping, all curled up on the couch that's too short for her, neck at an awkward angle on the arm, one foot sticking out from under the sleeping bag and probably getting cold. There's not much he can do about it.

She ought to be in his room. After all the work she did, it ought to be hers. She has a right to a real bed, or as close as.

He doesn't wake her and tell her this. After today, suggesting they share the narrow futon probably isn't a good idea.

But he wants to. He really wants to.

Maybe this isn't just about getting laid.

It's not like he was going to sleep tonight anyway, not after sleeping so much.

He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the doorframe with a thunk. If Jubilee wakes, he'll tell her he was getting a glass of water. But she doesn't, and he keeps watching her. He thinks about almost kissing her. He thinks about kissing her as she sleeps.

He knows there's a line between cute and creepy, but he also knows it's hard to spot. He stays in the doorway. This is just... it's overprotectiveness. It's guilt. He cares about her, of course he does, and he feels bad for the way she's forced to live. He wants to protect her from the rest of the world. She's lost too many people. She's been betrayed too often. He's scared he'll be another one of those people who hurt her. Maybe this is his way of coping with that: promising himself to protect her from all the others.

Or maybe she's just a bit cute, and a bit nice, and a bit more than a mate. Maybe he's really over Paige now.

That's a weird thought. A slightly scary one. And it's even weirder, because he and Paige never even had a proper relationship. He was still too hung up over what happened to Gayle. Is he going to do that to Jubilee, too? Freak out because he couldn't make it work with Paige?

He finds himself walking into the room. She's right there. He can touch her, he barely has to bend down. She's somehow more real than Paige.

She's like a sister. He'd said that to Ange. She's like family. Really annoying family.

Like those couples you see sometimes, who bicker and bicker because they *can*. No fear of hurting each other, they care that much.

Well, he hurt Jubilee, hurt her pretty badly. So clearly that's not what's going on here.

He sits down against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. If she doesn't feel the same way (which is what: Confused? Panicky? Desperate?) then he's being creepy. If she does... it's going to get awkward. They live together. They live practically on top of each other. It'll be horribly awkward.

He props an elbow on a knee, and reached out his hand to stroke the back of hers. Her fingers twitch. He slides his fingers along the back of her hand, the back of her fingers, and round underneath. As he reaches the palm, her hand closes around his.

So maybe he does fancy her. It's a nice feeling, now he's accepting it. He's missed this. His chest sort of aches. He's smiling to himself. His hand is warm where she's touching it. He's got butterflies.

He laughs, a strange little swallowed noise, in the dark. He's a prat. It can't happen. They live together. A lot of people will want to hurt him. He shouldn't drag her down to his level, or expect her to raise him to hers.

But she is, he thinks. Little by little. Just being here. They have fun. They talk. They go out shoplifting together. They're going to go busking together.

Oh fuck, no wonder this is so familiar. It's Gayle. She's Gayle. In a very Jubilee sort of way, no question, but it's the same pattern.

He used to think Gayle was his One True. Sometimes he still does. They'd just clicked on so many levels. She'd understood him. She'd put up with him. She'd offered an escape.

Jubilee isn't an escape. She's in the same position as he is. There shouldn't be that same impetus to be with her, stay with her. Life isn't going to change dramatically if they start going out. Just more of the same, and okay, what they've got is good, but it's not the sort of opportunity Gayle presented to him.

Okay, so here's a new idea: what if he's not trying to escape from anything?

This is getting ridiculous. It's got to be 2AM, and he's sitting in his own living room, half holding the hand of a girl who is very strictly just a mate, due to both circumstances and history, wondering if he's happy with his life just after a major depressive episode.

He enjoys falling in love. Relationships he's shit at, but the falling part he can do. He actually likes it.

He'll get over it, eventually. Fantasise a lot about clingy relationships, commitment, responsibility. All that shit. Killing her by accident. It's a nice feeling now, but he knows where it leads. Guilt and fear and longing for freedom. If he puts some effort in, he could be over her by Christmas.

He's not totally blind. He can tell it's already started to go both ways. The almost kiss was a pretty big hint. The way she looks at him sometimes, almost speculatively. The way she keeps insisting she needs him. But this way is better. Paige felt for him as he felt for her, and look how he behaved there. Let Jubilee be a little hurt, a little heartbroken. It is better than what might come after.

He pulls his hand from hers. She sighs, and his fingers clench into a fist. He allows himself to stroke her hair, just once, before he climbs to his feet. Glass of water, bed. He isn't tired, but a quick wank ought to help him settle down. Just as long as he doesn't think about Jubilee. Heart shaped face, wide eyes, small mouth. Garish t-shirts, rollerblades. Warm `pants' at the laundrette. Bright pink knickers. Small breasts, dark nipples. Round mouth, soft lips. No makeup. Sensitive breasts against his narrow chest. Virgin. Curls of wiry black hair.

This isn't constructive, he thinks, sprawled out on his futon.

Sitting astride him, hands clenched around his shoulders. Cupping one breast, pinching one nipple. She's coming. Back arched, mouth open. Swearing in the little Cantonese *he* knows. Literal fireworks.

He sleeps peacefully.

#

It all seems ridiculous the next morning. In love with Jubilee. She's a cute kid, but that's all she is. Well, nineteen, but she lacks experience. Of a certain sort. The required sort.

She's bright and bubbly at him as they eat breakfast. Toast. Her hair is long, getting in her eyes. Bright blue. She teases him a little. She openly mocks him. She talks and talks and talks and he's not listening, not at all. She pokes him with the butter knife. She's irritating. She's like a kid sister. She's immature.

He remembers thinking about her with his hand on his dick. Her breasts. Her flat stomach, her small hips. Her virginity. Fucking her.

"You are totally not listening, are you?"

No, he wants to say. No, I'm thinking about fucking you. I'm thinking about you on top, and the way your breasts would bounce. I'm thinking about my cock, with my cock.

He offers her a lopsided smile. "Much as a love yer, pet, I can't always stop myself from tuning out."

She pouts, and he widens his smile. He's got an erection that's threatening to break something if he doesn't deal with it soon.

She returns the smile, a flash of white teeth, and turns her attention to her toast. He decides to make a run for it, with a mumbled "Back inna sec" and a speedy retreat to the bathroom.

It's two different Jubilees. It's the one in his head and the one in his kitchen. Sexy, mature, unbroken Jubilee and young, irritating and almost as fucked up as he is Jubilee. It's just a stupid fantasy. He has to get over it.

The problem is, he thinks, tucking his cock back into his boxes and regarding himself ruefully in the mirror, it's the one in the kitchen he's falling in love with.

10

He had an erection. She's stuffing toast into her mouth so he won't hear her giggle; the walls are that thin here. She wonders what he *was* thinking about, instead of listening to her. What got him so horny.

She tilts her chair back, and leans against the wall. She can hear his ragged breath. She swallows another giggle.

*Jono's got a stiffy. Jono's got a stiiiiiiffy.* She sings inside her head. She's glad he's not a telepath now. She's never seen an erect penis before, outside of the internet. She wonders what his is like. Is he cut? How big is it? Is it grey, too?

Totally, utterly stupid questions, of course. Duh. It's Jono. He's cute, but he's totally out of bounds. Paige is one of her best, she's not going to do that to her.

Even if they did almost kiss last night.

But he's Jono. He's totally not interested in her. He's probably just been thinking about Paige a lot recently, now he's all mouthed up.

He comes back, and she smiles at him. God, those cheekbones. He's way too skinny, but it's kinda hot, because he has the most amazing hips. It's that sort of emaciated, rock junkie look. His hair is flopping in his eyes, and his lips are curved up in a way that's not actually a smile. Nice sharp jaw line, like he had even when he didn't have a jaw. His eyelids are drooping slightly, and he looks relaxed. No wonder, she thinks.

"Are yer checking me out?" he asks, cocking his head to one side.

Jubilee laughs, and says, "Totally, you man hunk of luscious love. Um. Luscious hunk of man love. Luscious man of hunk love."

He laughs, and picks up his toast again.

#

That. Was. Amazing.

She's buzzing. She's actually buzzing. The icecubes in her glass are rattling together. She can't stop smiling.

"Yer wer fantastic, luv," Jono says, gripping her hand tightly. She giggles. "Bloody brilliant."

"Over a hundred pounds," she says, barely above a whisper.

"We can get more," he says, eyes alight. "Dunno if yer want to get up at four in the mornin', but if we did a whole day stint, tourist area..."

"Oh my god," she breaths. "It was amazing." She can't think about tomorrow yet, or any other day.

He's grinning at her. She hugs him. It's a good hug.

She makes herself let go. Not constructive. He's not interested.

"You're way too skinny," she tells him.

"I like it this way," he says. "Best compliment anyone ever paid me: lanky fucker."

Jubilee rolls her eyes. "Weirdo," she says.

"Weirdo who helped yer earn over a hundred quid," he reminds her. "Budge up."

They sit together in the pub, tucked against the all in a corner. It's nice. Warm and cosy. Bit smoky, but not too bad. She's buying the drinks, so Jono can get the busking licence tomorrow. Turns out today's little adventure was just a touch illegal.

And they get to talking. It's dark out, and cold, and it sounds like it's raining hard. She's comfortable and a little sleepy. And a little drunk. It's nice.

"You ever thought about seeing a shrink?" she asks.

A few seconds later, the sentence replays itself in her head. Oops.

"Yeah," Jono says slowly. "Had t', a couple o' times." He's pulled his scarf down - the scarf he wore tight around his face all day to hide the blue lips - to drink, and because, she hopes, he's comfortable enough here.

She does her best to raise an eyebrow, realises she's failing, and says instead, "Wanna share?"

He shakes his head, but smiles ruefully.

"Broken home, that sorta shit. Social workers and all that. I just... I just shut `em out. Sat there in silence, enjoying how pissed off they got. Got labelled disturbed, until someone twigged what I was doing. Tried to make it a shared joke, but I wasn't having any of that either.

"Now," he shrugs, "I think I'd find it hard not t' go quiet, yer know? I still don't want t' talk t' that lot." His mouth twists. "I could get prozac fer free on t' NHS, but yer'd have t' stand over me t' make sure I take it."

"And I would, you know," she says. She reaches up, and it seems like ever such a long way up, and ruffles his hair. He ducks his head to make it easier for her.

"We done?" he asks softly. "This ain't my favourite topic of conversation."

She wants to push him, but doesn't. She's kinda surprised she got this much out of him: Jono's mega private.

"Alright," she says easily. "How about sex?"

Jono chokes on his beer. Wide red eyes peer at her over the rim.

"Wha' a'ou' `e'?" he asks, mouth still clamped around the glass.

She shrugs. "I dunno." She's been thinking about it since that morning, when Jono had had that tent in his jeans. And the other night, she supposes, while he was out. "I'm a virgin," she says, and accepts his complete lack of surprise, "but now...." She wriggles her shoulders, a sort of half shrug. "I guess without the X-Men breathing down my neck, dating's looking a bit more possible, you know?"

"Yeah." Jono sounds weird. He's hiding behind his pint.

"So, I was just wondering stuff," she goes on. "Like, did you and Paige ever have sex?"

Jono snorts, and shakes his head. "Too scared of her," he says, with something like nostalgia in his voice. "She was a Good Girl."

Jubilee can hear the capitalisation, and it makes her giggle. "So, who was, like, your first?"

"Yer drunk," Jono comments. He takes another mouthful of beer, and swishes it from cheek to cheek. He's savouring it. He swallows. "Official version or the true'un?" he asks.

"Both!" Jubilee chirps. She takes another swallow of her cranberry and vodka. Cranberry. They're really splashing out tonight.

"'ficially, I was fourteen, an' it was Jane Summer. *Actually*, I paid her ten quid t' say we'd done it. Bought her some chocolates to find out why she did this, and turns out, she's a lezzer, but terrified of her parents findin' out. So she cultivated this reputation as a right slag." He grins at the memory.

"And?" Jubilee prompts. "Real one too."

Jono looks at his beer. "It was terrible," he says. "We never spoke again." He snorts. "*An'* that's not the worst sex I ever had." He shakes his head and keeps smiling.

"What's the worst sex?" Jubilee's sitting up, she's staring at him. She knows she's making an idiot out of herself. She doesn't care. No one ever tells her about sex, especially not the bad bits.

"Put it this way," he says with a wry grin, "I had to make a trip to hospital the next day, an' she wasn't much better off. Two things that're bad fer sex: cars, and alcohol."

Jubilee collapses onto the table, trying not to laugh too loudly. It's a strange, choking noise she makes instead, and she gulps it down. She's laughing so hard she can't breathe, that there's no noise coming out. The more she tries to stop herself, the more she laughs. Jono's shoulders are shaking like he's got the same problem, and his eyes are all crinkled up.

"How?" she squeaks. "Hospital?"

"Ripped foreskin," Jono says. He's not mumbling or anything. Like it's kinda embarrassing, but not shameful.

She raises her head from the table. "You're not circumcised?" she says.

"Nope. Most blokes aren't, in this country, less they're Jewish. Never got the American thing about it." He shrugs, and finishes his beer. "Want another?"

She nods. She shouldn't, but she's going to. Because she can. She's old enough to get drunk here, and even if she wasn't she might anyway. No one's watching over her now. Jono's still watching *out* though, and that's good, because she's going to need some help walking home. But she's free here. Jono's not going to stop her doing anything she wants.

Here starts the life of Miss Jubilation Lee, independent adult. Adult.

#

She threw up in two drains on the way home. Her head's a little clearer now, but things are still a bit odd. She doesn't want to move too quickly. Walking takes a bit more concentration than normal.

She leans on Jono as he stands in the hallway. She's tired. Her head is really heavy. He's warm.

"Do yer need me to prop yer over the toilet?" he asks.

She ought to answer. Questions require answers.

"Jubes?"

Time is kinda funny. It's easy to just stop, and let it flow past her.

"Yeah," she says.

He holds her hair back for her while she's sick again. She's glad it's long enough to do that now. She keeps retching even when she's empty. She hates it.

"Pet," Jono says affectionately.

She leans on him. His chest is broader than it used to be. It's solid. He has an arm around her shoulders.

Some time passes. It's weird. It keeps doing that, and she suspects it's getting very late now. There's these sort of long periods where her brain shuts down. She might be falling asleep. All her limbs feel really heavy. She doesn't care if she falls asleep here; it's easier than going all the way to the couch.

"Come on, pet," Jono murmurs into her hair. "Gotta get yer into bed."

She shakes her head.

"Come on," he says again, slowly pulling away from her. She lets herself go limb, and falls with him. He sighs. "Don't be a prat, Jubes. Yer not asleep yet."

"I'll sleep here," she slurs.

"No yer won't. Yer'd hate yerself in the morning. Come on. Gonna get some water in yer, and then yer curling up on yer couch."

"Mmnnnnnn."

And then there's a lurch, and the world spins, and her stomach hates it. He's picked her up. He's carrying her.

This isn't the couch.

"I'm putting yer in here," he says. "Arms up." She half obliges, and he pulls her t-shirt off. It's got puke on it. "Straight line to the bathroom," he says. "I'm gonna prop yer up a bit too, just in case." He fiddles with the futon, and her head is higher than her body. He undoes her jeans and pulls them down, almost taking her panties with them. He looks away. "Yer gonna help me?" he asks roughly.

She wriggles her hips and makes a halfhearted attempt to pull her panties up. It's apparently enough to appease Jono. He drapes his sleeping bag over her, tucks it around her. He studies her for a moment, and grabs his coat from the back of the door, throwing that over her too. Warm.

"I'm going to get yer a bottle of water," he says, "so yer can't knock it over. And a bucket."

She nods. She's asleep before he comes back.

11

He's had a brilliant idea for a birthday present for Jubes. Just brilliant. And affordable. All thanks to her little room reorganisation.

It just requires getting rid of her for a few hours a day for about a week. And her birthday is rapidly approaching.

He's tried leaving her at the pub, but she's taken to getting drunk when she think it's safe (or when she's not in a mood to care), and she can't walk home like that. He worries occasionally about her drinking, but he thinks about everyone else in the pub, and he figures that (a) at least she's old enough and (b) she's got more cause to want to kill those braincells than anyone else. He drinks deliberately slowly, to slow her down, and he tries not to be there for more than a few hours. That's all, though. He's not her babysitter.

He's tried convincing her to go shopping without him, or shoplifting, depending on their financial situation, but she's too fast. She doesn't like going alone because she'll get lost (he's beginning to think she does it deliberately anyway) and she never strays far from the flat.

He's tried pawning her off on Gayle and Sophie and Dis, but that didn't go down too well. Because, idiot, Gayle was involved in trying to kill her once. Dis just doesn't give a fuck, and while Sophie's nice enough they've not got anything in common.

He's tried begging for privacy, but that seems to encourage her more. He suspects she's trying to catch him masturbating. He wonders what she'd do if she did.

Useless line of thought.

Only now, now there is a light. An envelope shaped light. Specifically, a work visa shaped light. And, oh look, that job at the sport centre is still open, the self defence class.

"I don't want to," she says, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "They won't want me. I've got no experience."

"'Part from self defending yerself from all sorts o' nasties from all over the galaxy," Jono points out. "Yer can kick higher than yer head. Yer can hit hard enough to knock a bloke out in one shot. Jus' give it a shot, luv." He wonders if it would be cruel, and decides it would, so he keeps his trump card to himself a little longer.

"But what about the address, and stuff?" Jubilee asks. "The council?"

"We'll stick Gayle's down," Jono says. "I'll talk her round."

"And if they work it out?" she asks.

"We'll cope." Jono sounds firm, even to his own ears. He feels like a right bastard, pressuring her to get a job when he's still avoiding it like the plague. "Look," he says, "if yer get it, I'll get one. We can get a proper flat together. Non council. Real furniture, a bedroom each. A TV, telephone. Maybe even the internet, so yer can chat t' Paige."

"You're getting a bit ahead of yourself," Jubilee observes. "They're not going to hire me. I've got no experience teaching classes, unless you count that tiny bit of TAing I did back at the institute. And all those `nasties' I beat up? That was with my *powers*, Jono. You know, those sparkles that aren't coming back? The reason I'm here?"

"I think it'll help yer." She's forced him to pull the trump card, and she's going to hate him for it later when she doesn't get the job. She's probably going to cry. The thought makes his heart constrict, and he swallows. "Yer powers weren't all that special. Yer never trained with them enough to make it so - I didn't either, I'm not blaming yer. Y' don't need `em. I think this'll help yer accept that. Y' can still kick arse without `em."

Her lip wobbles a little. "And if I don't get it?" she asks softly. "Does that prove *me* right?"

Jono shakes his head furiously, but he's done it now. He wishes he had faith that she'd get the position, so he could justify this to himself later, but he doesn't. And she's going to be ripped to pieces because of it, in ways no gift could ever help with.

They're going to get hammered tonight, he promises himself. So hammered she won't even remember there was an interview. Trolleyed. Wasted.

"Yer've gotta try," he says quietly. "An' if they don't take yer, it's their loss. I've seen yer in a fight. Y' use yer brain and yer body, pet, and powers last."

"I hate you," Jubilee says. "I hate you even more because you've already gotten me an interview, haven't you? You took way too long getting bread this morning."

He is an utter cunt. Good job she knows it now, though, he supposes. Get rid of that little crush she so clearly has on him. You'd think she'd have worked it out from him and Paige, but no. He's a shite boyfriend. He knows this. Just because she fancies him and she's, well, a bit fanciable herself, doesn't mean it'd work.

"Yeah," he admits. "Just popped my `ead around the door, see if they were still looking. Said yer could drop by any time with afternoon, bring a CV with yer."

She sighs, and stares around the room. "Alright," she says eventually. "But you've got to help me with the CV."

#

He sets the sewing machine up on a shelf he's cleared. He really wishes he had a table. Pulls out the reflective strips he got cheap off the guy at the bicycle shop. Starts going through his laundry, right down to the bottom of the box.

The advantage of living with someone, especially after over a month, is that you get to know some odd things about them. And Jono's got the advantage of the years at the academy, too. So he knows what size Jubilee is. Knows most of her measurements, or at least the relevant ones. Knows her favourite colours and materials. Knows that she likes her sleeves a little too long, and her waists a little too tight. That she likes to stand out, wherever she goes.

The coat was ten quid from Oxfam. It needs altering first. It's nice and long, and will flare out dramatically behind her. The skirt was even less, and, as far as he's a judge of these things, a perfect fit. The fishnet gloves were a bit more, but he can cope with that. Even if she only wears it all once, he'll be happy. And he thinks she will be too: she's been complaining about her clothes, about how they're all a bit childish, and how they're all a bit one note, and how she really hates anything that reminds her of her time with the X-Men right now.

She admires the goths and the punks and the new romantics and everyone else who's ever taken anything to extremes. Jono likes the punks, the old-school hard-core punks. He gets the same feeling seeing them that he gets from seeing nuns: that his lapse isn't so bad as long as there is someone keeping the faith.

He wants to give Jubilee a bit of that flare and daring she admires, but he wants it to be hers. She's not a goth or a punk or an anything else. She's Jubilee.

He starts to cut along the seams of the coat.

#

"I got it."

She'd been banging on the door with both fists. The whole thing had been shaking, and the doorframe looked stressed. He'd flung it open, and these are her first words.

He's frozen. He's almost trembling a little. She's clutching her arms to her chest, eyes wide. She's sweating, and her chest is heaving. She ran all the way here.

"I got it, Jono. She gave it to me there and then."

And his arms are out, and he's holding her to his chest, feet dangling. Her arms are around his neck. He thinks if he squeezes her any harder he's going to break her in half.

He's a bastard. He's such a bastard. How could he have thought she wouldn't get it? Jubilee, not get the job? She's amazing. She's brilliant. Anyone, anywhere would give her a job. Any job she wanted. And she'd be great at it. Everyone would love her.

He doesn't want to share her. He yanks her inside, still suspended from his neck, and kicks the door shut. Carries her into the living room, and falls onto the couch with her. The rest of the world can have her tomorrow, but right now she's his.

#

Jono downs the last of his glass of champagne. He'd managed to convince himself to share Jubilee just long enough for them to go out and get it, and some pizza besides. Expensive pizza. Because Jubilee has a job, and they can afford it.

She's very giggly. Their post-busking nights at the pub have obviously done her alcohol tolerance some good, but she's still really quite drunk. She's lying on his chest, one hand playing with the empty bottle on the floor, the other tangled in his hair. The radio is on.

"Yer know what we should do," Jono says, talking to her hair.

"What!" Giggle.

"Call Wolverine."

Jubilee pushes herself up, and looks at him. "Seriously?" she asks.

"Yer've got a job! Jus' like that!" He tries to click his fingers, and misses. He's forgotten how potent champagne is. "He's gonna be thrilled."

She smiles, but it fades. "Maybe later," she says, lying back down on him again.

He doesn't push her. Just holds her, tight against his chest. Because he can. She's not going to get burnt. She will want to call Logan in the morning, he knows, but Jono was the one who made this an anti-power victory, back when he thought there wouldn't be a victory, and it was a bit dumb of him to bring Wolverine up now.

"I'm thrilled, luv," he says.

"Me too."

He's going to have to get a job too, he realises. He promised.

Maybe it's time to take that scarf off, and do the singing himself.

12

She's not sure which of them is more nervous. She's fidgeting with a leotard she bought the day before, while he's trying to put on lipstick. He's going busking on his own today. He's going to sing. He's still convinced small children will burst into tears at the very sight of him and pregnant women will miscarry and ladies will faint and all those things. It's cute.

She takes the black lipstick out of his hand and applies it to where his lips ought to be, ignoring the fact they stretch to his ears. A bit of electric blue eye-shadow, some kohl, and a quick ruffle of the hastily dyed black and blue streaks in his hair.

He looks insanely cool, if she does say so herself.

She wishes she could say the same about herself. She's nineteen. She's a little kid. She's not a teacher. This isn't the Institute, where at least her age would make her cool and approachable. She's going to be half the age of any of her `students' and they will hate her anyway, because she's that bratty X-kid. Same as she's always been, except she's lost the X now.

"Yer'll be brilliant," Jono says.

"Huh?" Her head snaps up. "Sorry, were you talking to me or you?"

Jono smiles awkwardly. "Both of us," he says. "Yer sure y' don't want me t' come? Moral support?"

"You mean am I sure I don't want you chickening out of your end of this?" she asks tartly. "You come, and I'll demonstrate on you. Demonstrate *hard*."

He chuckles quietly. "Yer'll be great, pet," he says. "Y' should come an' find me after. *I* don't mind a bit `moral support."

She nods. This conversation is getting old. Jono's wants her to come so he can't bolt too early. He's not phrasing it like that, but it's totally why. He's scared he's going to chicken out.

It's kinda sweet, that she can prevent that. It means she is having an effect. Doing some good.

Right. Doing Good. That's what's she's going to do now. March right on down to that gym, Do Some Good.

Saving the world was never this frightening.

#

Less than a third of the class turned out to be older than her. It hadn't been so bad. She'd kept it simple, nice long warm up, gauging people's fitness levels. No point asking people to do things they weren't physically capable of.

She sits with her back to the wall and tugs on her sneakers. The adrenaline is still pumping around her body, and she's keeping her head down as people leave. Not *so* bad. Not great, though, and she can't squash that feeling of disappointment bubbling inside her. She hears two girls talking as they leave, one telling the other it had been more like an aerobics session. Her mood plummets.

She has to go find Jono. She promised him. She doesn't want to see him. He'll have made hundreds of pounds by now. She's made ten pounds. And most of her class probably aren't coming back.

She sits there until she's sure she isn't going to cry, confident that there's not another class for an hour. So when she hears the knock, she freaks a little, because it can't have been nearly that long and if it is Jono's going to worry and *she's* going to worry because time skips? Always of the bad.

"Hey, pet."

She lifts her head. Jono's standing before her. His makeup is all over the place, including black smudged under his eyes that make her think he's been crying, and he's got his scarf wrapped so tightly around his face she can barely understand him.

She climbs to her feet, and unwinds it.

He looks miserable.

"You're worse than I am," she says. "What happened?"

He shakes his head. She realises he's looking in the mirror behind her. Three out of the four walls here are mirrored. He's hunching in on himself.

They have to get out of here.

She grabs her stuff in one swooping motion, grabs his arm with her free hand, and drags him out of there. She wishes this place had a café, but it's clearly too small. Instead, there's some benches and some vending machines, and she shoves him to sit down while she procures sugar.

He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle it without her. She hates how that makes her feel. Sorta proud. Sorta resentful. Has he even noticed how miserable *she* is yet?

"'nks'uv," he mumbles, taking the chocolate from her. She waits, but that's all she's getting, apparently.

"So," she says, "I sucked."

He raises his head, and forces a smile. "Be'yer di'n't," he says. He's tugging on the scarf, clearly wanting to put it back on but not sure how she'll react.

"I totally did," she says. "This girl said it was like an aerobics class. I had no clue what to do. Made them warm up for, like, three quarters of the session. I mean, what do you teach people? Eye poking? Foot stomping? I did martial arts for ages. None of these people have. I can't teach them stuff they can't do." She sighs, shoulders slumping. This is meant to be cheering Jono up, in some sort of `I suck more than you' way, but mostly she's just depressing herself. "I shoulda let you come," she says. "You'd have stopped me from messing up too much. Plus, so much easier to demonstrate punching a person when there's a person to punch."

He slides an arm around her shoulders. She leans against.

"Go," she says.

He frowns.

"Go," she repeats. "Start. Begin." She pokes him in the ribs. "I bared my mistakes to you. Now it's your go."

"I got there," he says. "I stood there. I went to the pub."

"You didn't even..." She's hurt. He pushed her so hard to get this job, and he spent the day at the pub. Said he'd get a real job, if she got one, but nooooo. Said he'd go busking on his own instead, make just as much. She is putting her ass on the line. Her dignity. The least he could do is do it too.

He's curled in on himself. He looks wretched. Jubilee foresees another `can't get out of bed' stint on the not too distant horizon. Shit.

"How about," she says, "I come down with you tomorrow? Just to set up and stuff. I don't have anything here til eleven. If you want to stop, you can come and be my punching bag."

She can see him swallow. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His eyes are looking distinctly moist again.

"I know what you're thinking," she says. "You're thinking you suck. And, okay, I was thinking you suck too, for a bit there, and I've been thinking I suck, and most of the time I think most of the world sucks. Because it does. It sucks even more for making us think we suck. You are a totally amazing musician, Jono. You're amazing with that guitar, and you have a great voice. I sit in the kitchen listening to you sing in the shower. I bet our neighbours do too.

"So, the world sucks, for making you think you suck. And I know you know you don't suck, most of the time. This is an emotion thing. Glands and stuff. If there's one thing you're confident about - and sometimes I'd swear it's the only thing - it's your music. That's why you collect all those guitars. That's why you asked that Jamaican guy to show you how to play his steel drum; you want to learn how to play every instrument ever. I bet you'd be thrilled with on of those one man band things. Very Dick Van Dyke-"

"Oi!"

She laughs, and he sort of half snorts. "Oh come on, like your accent wasn't totally hammed up back at school," she says. "It's so much weaker here in London."

"Maaaybe," he says.

She takes his hand in hers, and squeezes it. "You know you can sing," she says. "You told me you used to do this on your own all the time, when Gayle was at boarding school. All that's changed is the way you look, and let me tell you, you were looking damn cool when you left the flat this morning."

"Yer think?"

"Okay, so, I know you have this thing about mirrors," she says. "I'm not blind. But all that effort I put in, and you didn't even glance?"

Jono grimaces.

"Tomorrow," she says, "I'm going to pretty you up so much that no one is going to finish they're shopping."

He glances over towards the men's bathrooms.

"It's not worth it now," she says. "You've made a mess of it." She sighs. "Want me to fix you up so you can go see?"

"I didn't bring any of the make up with me," he says.

"Duh." She rolls her eyes and grins. "I've got it. I figured you'd need a touch up anyway."

She digs in her bag, and pulls out lipstick, eye-shadow and kohl. She likes doing this. It's fun. And Jono doesn't seem to have any objections to wearing make up at all. Must come of being a goth, she thinks philosophically. She tries to imagine him as he was back as Massachusetts, but with big dark streaks of eyeliner, and mascara, and dark eye-shadow. Okay, so he'd have looked kinda silly, but she bets with a bit of practice they could have got it right. He's already got the big cow eyes, even if they are kinda marred by being completely red. Still got the insanely long eyelashes, though.

She hasn't got a mirror with her, so she sends him into the bathroom. He comes back looking pleased with himself.

"I told you so," she says smugly.

"Kid in there asked me if I was a clown," he informs her.

"Yeah," she says, "a scary sexy goth clown."

He smiles at her, and ruffles her hair. She stand up, and he hugs her.

"Okay, so angst over?" she asks. "Because it's totally my turn again, and I suck worse than makeup can fix."

Jono looks at her, and over at the desk. He walks over there. Jubilee has a terrible, horrible feeling about this.

"How'd `er first lesson go?" he asks the woman there, jerking his head towards Jubes. She wonders if he knows that the woman is her boss.

"Well," she says. "Almost everyone paid for next week, which is very impressive for a first lesson. A few are coming back tomorrow." She smiles at Jubilee. After a stubborn moment, one she calls herself childish for, she walks over to the desk. "I've got a list of comments here," her boss says. "We always get feedback after a first lesson. Do you want to hear them?"

"I'm thinking it's that or read them, right?" Jubilee guesses.

"'Good pace for beginners', `very understanding', `very approachable'," the woman reels off. "Quite a few like that. We also have `absolutely kickass' and `I wish my PE classes were like this'. Though my personal favourite is `when do we get to go up against the skrulls?'"

Jubilee giggles. She can see that her boss has made that one up; the feedback forms are lying on the desk. But then, her boss has watched her sit and wail to Jono, probably heard most of it too.

She's really quite a cool boss, Jubilee thinks.

"If you don't mind," the older woman says, "we'd like you to take on a few more classes. We're going to end up oversubscribed very quickly, I think."

"Nothing too early in the morning," Jubilee says quickly. "There's a sort of mutual moral support thing that has to happen." She looks over at Jono. "Plus, I need my dummy to demonstrate on."

"Fer free," Jono says, raising his hands. "God only knows *why*."

Jubilee's boss smiles. "Right then. Another on Wednesday, I think, and a late night Thursday? I might squeeze you in for a couple of Mondays, though the room's usually used for step aerobics then."

Jubilee nods and grins and nods and signs and grins some more. Jono's smiling too, which is good. Crisis adverted.

As they leave, Jubilee slips an arm around his waist, and stands on tiptoes to whisper in his ear:

"What's her *name*?"

13

He's been feeling a little guilty, setting off early to go busking, and then running back here at lunch time to do some sewing, and then running back out again so he'd be where he said he would when she came to meet him. She'd almost caught him once, but he'd told her that guy had nicked his spot when he went to take a leak.

He's really enjoying the busking now. The face is actually getting him compliments. And some insults, mostly from chavs, but they used to insult him when he still looked normal. It only gets him down on bad days.

The coat is almost done. Which is good, because her birthday's tomorrow. He is forfeiting all busking to get things done. The coat isn't everything. It's a great gift, but he's going to make sacrifices tomorrow night.

He stands in the phone booth, and dials the number of a club. Not as trendy as it was a few years ago, but still pretty hot. His stomach twists. This is a stupid idea. He won't be able to do it. He'll bolt. She'll freak. She'll hate him.

He recognises the voice at the end of the phone, and he almost drops it.

"Sarah," he says, voice grating. "It's Jonothon Starsmore. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Yeah, that was me. No, we're not any more. Yeah.

"Look, I want t' secure a couple of queue-jumpers fer tomorrow night.

"No, not the VIP tickets. Can't afford `em, an' they probably wouldn't be appreciated anyway.

"Thursday's still your cheese night, right?"

And it's done. She doesn't even mention the cloakroom incident.

He slumps against the wall of the phone box. It's a red one, and he feels like a bit of a freak for hunting one down, specifically. He can't believe how many they've replaced since he left London. They'll start on the double-deckers next.

He's doing the evening backwards. Dinner comes next. He was right to get the club out of the way first.

Not somewhere fancy, because they can't afford it and because she'd hate it. Not somewhere cheap, because they do that too often. Somewhere with big portions. Somewhere interesting.

Oh, fuck it. It's London. Like there's going to be anywhere halfway decent that doesn't cost an arm and a leg.

There's a place in Covent Garden, and he knows Jubilee will love the street entertainers there. But he doesn't call. He won't be able to afford to drink there, and it's going to take a nice healthy portion of ethanol to get him into that club. He doesn't want to get wasted, but he'll need a little dutch courage. So he calls the pub, and let's Jesse know it's Jubilee's birthday. He can hear the grin down the phone. Don't embarrass her. Don't make her feel like a kid. Don't... well, okay. They can do *that*. She'll like that.

But he's still not sure about dinner.

Before that? Shopping. Camden. Easy.

Okay, so, lunch. Well, she's going to be full from her late and lavish breakfast, so they can cross that bridge when they get to it. The morning, of course, is reserved for sleeping late and present opening. A box arrived yesterday from Paige, and Wolverine's gift came a few week's ago. Jono's been hiding them, of course. She found M's contribution, but he took that off her before she could open it. Good things in small packages seems to be M's philosophy. He wonders how she's doing in... who is she with? X-Factor?

Who the hell is in X-Factor?

It's nice not to know, and not to care. He doesn't even know is Excalibur's roster is the same as when he met them. Or any of the mutant teams. Doesn't seem to be any fewer of them, for all that M-Day did. Just the little people, like him and Jubes, who got hit. Same way the bigshots all get second shots, but guys like Ev and Ange stay dead.

These are alright thoughts for now, in his phone booth, but he sternly reminds himself not to have them tomorrow.

Huh. Just dinner to get sorted. Doesn't really need to be in here. And there's a bloke outside, standing in that sort of way that suggests it's not a phonecall he wants to make. Jono smirks at him, and pretends to dial another number. Let him piss in one of those BT phone booths. Red boxes deserve better.

Tomorrow is going to be very expensive. Extremely so. It's going to make Christmas a little impoverished. A little lot. And it's putting any plan to get a real flat back by about six months.

He feels a pang of guilt. Jubilee really wants them to get a proper place. He doesn't blame her. That couch is too short and it smells pretty odd. The whole flat smells of mildew. It's too small for them. He's tried talking her into taking his room, even just every other night, but she refuses.

Maybe he should cancel everything. Put the all the money down as a deposit on a place.

But she ought to get a say in where they live. Doesn't exactly make for a good birthday surprise.

He considers for a bit, and calls the pub back. It does food, and he knows Jubilee likes it. Jesse will dig out something good for them to drink, and probably stick a candle on top. The shopping doesn't have to be lavish either. The club he's kinda committed to, though, as much for himself as for Jubilee.

It's weird, because he keeps forgetting he's over Paige. He doesn't think about her often enough to remember, and then a letter turns up for Jubilee, and the present, of course. Her parcel didn't bring him anything apart from a faint sense of regret and guilt. Faint. No anger. No jealousy. No resentment.

But Paige isn't the problem. In fact, he still has the same problem he had that wrecked things with Paige.

Gayle.

Specifically, her inability to walk.

In detail: the fact he hadn't tried to help her learn to again.

Oh, the PT is doing wonders. She only really needs the wheelchair when she's tired now. Still uses the sticks quite often, but she *can* walk without them. And she's talking to him like they're friends, and hell, they slept together for a while. But he almost killed her. And then he ran away.

He's getting better about that. Not Running Away. Jubilee helps. She sort of tethers him. She can tell, he thinks, when he's getting itchy feet. Sometimes she helps him turn them into itchy fists, and they go down the chav pub and accidentally-on-purpose get into fights. Most of the time, though, she finds ways of making sure he's going to be where he says he will. Little appointments to meet up around work. Deliberately drinking all the milk so he can walk it off going down to the shop. Exercising together. Getting him to think about something different. Usually sex.

She likes to talk about sex. He shouldn't find it endearing, but he does. She wants to be an adult so desperately, and she thinks that'll help. But she knows better, too. She's conflicted, and he can tell, because she always asks for the horror stories. He has plenty.

He always assures her, though, that he's much better at it now. He credits Gayle, and, if he's feeling charitable, Sugar. He wonders why he tells Jubilee this. Especially when she's drunk, and easily influenced.

Apart from the obvious reasons.

He winds his fingers in the phone cord. He's not just doing this to get into her knickers, right?

"Look, mate, you're not even bloody talking to anyone!"

"Sod off."

No, if he wanted into her knickers, he could have done so ages ago. He doesn't think she's got it as bad as he does, but he's pretty certain she'd `settle' for him if he offered himself.

He's fallen for her bad. That's why he wants to spoil her so much tomorrow. But there are a lot of other clubs out there, a lot of cheesy poppy clubs that she'd just adore. But he's dragging her to *that one*. And she'll love it. But if they go somewhere else, she won't know the difference. *He's* the one who wants to go there. Is he really doing it in the name of closure? What if it's just an excuse? What if he's torturing himself so he can feel justified later? Call it Karma?

Maybe he should cancel. There's loads of other places.

No. He's going. He just... He just won't drink. That's all. Then he's got no excuses. Or dance. That's it. Let Jubilee go off and dance with other people. Guys.

Let her get over him. He's stern with himself. Tells his jealousy to fuck off. She's got a bit of a crush, but that's just because he's the only available guy she knows. She's slowly making friends at the gym, but lifeguard's gay, and most of the other blokes are way older than her. When she remembers how many available, attractive men are out there, she'll be off like a shot. He'll be safe. He'll be fine.

He'll just have a broken heart, but hey, he's used to those, right?

The guy outside starts pissing on the outside of the phone box. Jono gives him a disgusted look. And, in a fit of rather Jubilee-esque humour, he makes a point of getting a good look at the guy's dick, and pulling his best expression of `is that the best you can do?' He laughs at himself, but the guy takes it personally. Oh well.

#

He finishes off the coat that afternoon. He did the skirt by hand, and that was easy enough. He barely has time to hide the clothes before Jubilee gets in. She sweaty and dirty thanks to walking back from work without a shower first. In fact, she's still wearing her leotard.

"Yer trying to catch me wrapping yer prezzies," he accuses her.

She grins and nods. "Come on," she says. "A hint. Little hint. Teeny tiny hint."

"Patience is a virtue," he says as nobly as he can manage. She looks good in the leotard. Funny how he never really noticed it when she was in uniform. Maybe something to do with the fabric. Or the way she wears it.

He's going to put himself to the test tomorrow night. See if he's ever going to be capable of having a relationship again, and at the same time, denying himself the obvious one. Might as well shoot himself in the foot while he's at it.

"Yer look good," he says.

She cocks her head to one side, frowning. "Whaddya mean?"

"Yer look..." He thinks about it. "Confident. More grown up."

She blinks. "Since when? Just now?"

He shrugs. "Since a while, I guess. Yer body language is different to how it used t' be. Yer not so self conscious."

"I was self conscious?" She seems surprised that he thinks that.

"Jus'..." He waves a hand around vaguely. "Aware yer were the baby. Yer played up to it. Yer'd stand differently to the other girls. Sorta..." He demonstrates. Tucks his shoulders in a little. Tries to give the impression he's ashamed of his body. It's not hard. "Like yer were embarrassed that M and Paige had bigger tits than yer, but also like yer kinda didn't want to acknowledge y' had tits at all."

"Spent a lot of time thinking about my `tits', have you?" she asks tartly. He's touched a sore spot. Thinks maybe he ought to back off, it being her birthday and all tomorrow.

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah," he says, "coz as a teenaged bloke naturally they were the farthest things from me mind." He grins.

"Bet Paige's took precedence." She pouts.

"This ain't about her." She's surprisingly easy to dismiss. Jono could get to like this `being over her' thing. It makes him feel like a normal human being. "I was jus' saying: yer look good. Like y' know and like yerself a bit better."

She smiles broadly at him. "Thanks, Jono."

He steps forwards and hugs her. He's barefoot, she's wearing those oversized trainers. Plus, she's standing on the futon, he realises. Evens out the height difference a bit. She's looking up at him, he's looking down. They're really close. Nose to nose. He's got his hands low on her back, hers are around his neck. Not really what you'd call classic hug. More... embrace.

They've been here before. It's getting to the point where they've been here a few times. She smells of sweat, he's still got lipstick on. His palms are damp.

He presses a black smudgy kiss to her neck. She giggles and steps back, rubbing at it with her hand, pouting at the black that comes off on her fingers.

"Ew, now I have to take a shower!"

"Yer did anyway," Jono points out, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah, but now I gotta be really thorough. And check myself in the mirror." She pouts at him, and sticks her tongue out. "I'll get you back," she warns, and darts backwards out of the door.

He leans against the wall, one hand resting on the bookshelves she bought him.

Definitely no alcohol tomorrow. His self control can't take much more temptation. She sure as hell better get off with some bloke in the club, or he is going to have to convince Jesse that no, twenty isn't too young for him *at all*.

Why couldn't he fall in love with someone a little less close to him? Even just geographically?

14

Jono's drunk.

It's really quite funny, because he's trying so hard to pretend he's not.

She's wearing the clothes he gave her, and the top she bought for herself in Camden, and the uber expensive necklace M sent her. But mostly, she's wearing the clothes he gave her. Apparently sewing is a talent any impoverished goth ought to pick up.

The skirt is black denim. From the bottom of the left side, spreading up and towards the front, is a whole collection of stars and streaks of varying sizes, in a whole bunch of materials. Including some reflective scraps, clearly from whatever he used on her coat.

It is the most magnificent coat ever. When the coat girl by the entrance reaches out for it Jubilee gives her such a dirty look. Like she's going to take it off. It's black and tight at the waist and long and swirly at the back. It's got all these little bands around it, in reflective pink and yellow. On the arms, and at the waist, and around her neck, and just under her - she giggles in her head - tits, showing them off.

Jono's clinging to her arm, like he's going to rip the sleeve off. He's had this weird expression on his face ever since they left the pub. Like he's walking to death row. He's really tense. He looks scared and miserable. She wonders what he's sacrificing, to bring her here.

But then they're in. He'd arranged something, clearly, because they had just waltzed past that queue. He blanked the coat girl too.

There are two levels in the club. The door opens on the higher. Below them is a dance floor, a pulsating mass of humanity. There are podiums and poles and a spinning bit. There's a lot of blue and purple lights swinging around the place.

On their level, there's a bar, and some seats. It's very busy. There's also some good air-conditioning, so Jubilee doesn't feel too stupid in her coat.

She stretches her arms out and twirls away from Jono. He makes a panicked grab for her. Around them, heads perk up and eyes start following. They're looking at her. This rocks.

Back in America, she wouldn't even be able to get into a club like this. Here, she's actually one of the older clientele. Two years past drinking age. Ancient.

Jono gets hold of her again. He looks a little better now, but he's obviously still stressed. She wonders if she should ask.

"Want a drink, luv?"

She says yes, so he doesn't feel bad about getting another for himself. She's still pretty sober. She doesn't intend to stay that way.

Actually. Actually, no. Actually, she's kinda getting bored of getting drunk. She finds a spot by a pillar to wait for Jono, and thinks about this. It was totally exciting at first, but hangovers suck. She always feels stupid afterwards, and guilty, and ashamed. And, if she's honest, that out of control feeling at the time isn't so great. It had been, but then, after Jono made such a fuss about how mature and stuff she is now...

She promises herself she's not going to get falling down drunk, or even throwing up drunk. Just tipsy. Besides, she has to look after Jono.

YMCA starts blaring over the sound system. She can't help herself: even though she's on her own, and nowhere near the dance floor, she starts waving her arms along.

Jono reappears. He looks amused and a little pained. It's an improvement over `pantwetting terror'. He hands her a suspiciously blue bottle, and takes a swallow of San Miguel. Of course, club. Bottles only. Or, at least, bottles only for sensible people.

"You've been clubbing before," Jubilee accuses him.

"Loads," he says easily. He places a hand on her arm, and leans on the pillar. "Loads."

"Here?"

He nods. He's not smiling now.

With Gayle, she guesses. "Why come back?"

"Because yer'd like it," he says, gesturing to the dance floor.

"And..."

He takes a long swallow of beer. No. Lager. See, she is learning.

"This is where me powers manifested," he says. "But that's a shit reason. We're here because I knew yer'd like it. S'got nothing t' do w' me."

It totally does, and she's touched. He's not looking at her.

"How's it going?" she asks.

"I got through t' door," he says. "Oughta be easy from here on. Never actually made it this far inside before."

"Wanna dance?"

Something crosses Jono's face she can't read. He grimaces. "Drink up, first," he says. He turns, and leans on the railing overlooking the dance floor. She gets on with dancing to the chorus of YMCA.

He's nursing the beer. She finished her drink ages ago, but he's not meeting her eye. He's kinda wriggling, though, like he wants to dance. Just not with her.

Geez, two big important trauma-tastic sources of angst in one night? What's the *point*?

She takes his beer out of his hand, and finishes it for him. It's her birthday, and she'll dance with whoever she likes. And, for starters, someone she trusts. And really likes. She grabs his wrist, and drags him towards the stairs.

It's hot and sweaty down there. Jono just sort of jerks about a bit, like he's hideously embarrassed. It's beginning to get to her. Why bring her somewhere he would be miserable? She gets he's trying to give her a place with music she likes and everything, but he seems to hate the noise as much as the memories associated with this place. Getting drunk didn't change that.

A guy taps her on the shoulder. He's much taller than her, and broader, too. Not in that defined muscle way she got used to among the X-Men, though. More in a sort of `I can't be bothered to look after my body, and when my metabolism slows it'll be really obvious' kinda way.

Only then, he backs off. Jubilee looks back to see Jono's glaring at him. He catches her looking and realises she caught him. He has the decency to look ashamed of himself.

She's beginning to hate this. He's never going to let anything happen between them, she figured that out a while back, but now he's preventing her from being with anyone else too? She recognises this from the Paige thing. Sucky sucky.

A new track comes on, something recent. She recognises it from the radio. It always gets Jono's feet tapping, no matter how much he derides it for being disco. She loves that it's a song about not wanting to dance.

Jono's looking behind her again. She starts to turn, but he grabs her. Something in his face has changed. He puts his hands on her hips and stands close to her. And he starts to dance.

Well, she thinks, it stands to reason that someone so into music would be able to dance. Really dance. Spin her around dance, dip her back so far her hair touches the floor dance, attract so much attention a space clears around them dance. One leg between hers and his hips gyrate, and then they spin, and then he lifts her up for a second, and then they separate and he's doing something cool with his arms and his whole body looks like it's made from rubber. And then they're close again, and she doesn't care how hot she is because they're spinning and jumping and twisting and as the song ends she's kissing him, she's kissing him hard.

She hadn't thought it'd happen like this. After so many false starts, she'd thought an actual kiss would take ages to initiate, loads of staring into each other's eyes first and edging closer and closer. She's not even sure how they started kissing. They just are.

He's beaming at her. The music has slid into another track, and they slide apart to start dancing again. Jono keeps smiling. He does funny little moves with his hands, little shuffles with his feet. She starts to recognise bits of other dances, real dances, and even moves she learnt when she was a kid. He makes boxes with his hands. He goes into odd mimes that are like dancing, but like there's a joke behind it. He drags her onto one of the podiums, and they make idiots out of themselves. She managed to get one ankle up to his shoulder, to the sound of gasps around them. She shows off too.

Every time they're close enough, they kiss. Wherever they are. He picks her up off the floor and she wraps her legs around his waist. Eventually, though, her stupid bladder decides she's having too much fun, and she has to leave him to join the queue for the ladies. He signals that he'll be by the bar.

When she *finally* gets out, he's where he'd said he'd be. He's got another weird blue drink for her. Blue food-colouring makes her a bit hyper, and he knows it. He's halfway through another beer, but he's obviously taking this one more slowly. He seems to have danced off the affects of the others.

She stands on tiptoes and kisses him. He wraps an arm around her waist and holds her against him. He's smiling; a nice, natural, happy smile. She smiles back.

"'m sorry I was an arse earlier," he says into her ear.

"I think you've made up for it," she tells him. "Well, mostly. I think there could be more making up to do. Just a bit."

"'nother coupla hours worth?" he guesses correctly.

He's a great kisser. Not having a tongue for years doesn't seem to have done him any harm. Not that Jubes can claim reams of experience, but he's still easily one of the best she's had. She's kinda excited about other experiences she might have. Birthdays rock.

They keep drinking, and dancing, and she's really quite tipsy when the club closes and kicks them out. It's about four in the morning. She's way dehydrated. Jono flags them down a cab, which is good, and the tumble into the back seat together. Belts on, because otherwise the cabbie will get grumpy - giggle - and home they go.

She's nervous, but she's excited too. She got some condoms from a machine in the ladies. She and Jono keep making out in the back of the cab, but Jono's obviously keeping an eye of the fare because he makes the cabbie stop before they get home, and empties his pocket to pay him.

The cold air makes her appreciate her coat, and Jono keeps his arm around her, just to make sure she doesn't catch a chill. She has an arm around his waist. Occasionally they stop and kiss.

As they get closer to home, the cold air starts to get to her. She's sobering up. She's starting to feel more nervous than excited.

She loves him. She trusts him. She's a sexually mature adult. Why is she scared? She feels guilty. She feels like a dumb kid.

It's just nerves, she tells herself. First time nerves. Just push on, and you'll get over them, and it'll be great.

She yawns.

It'll be amazing. It's Jono. This is what two loving, trusting adults do. She's totally an adult. She's masturbated thinking about him. This'll be even better.

She loves him. It'll be great.

15

He's lucky; he's never had that memory loss thing other people complain of, even that brief period. He wakes, and he knows where he is, and how he got there. He knows who's cuddled up against him, and he knows why she's here.

He kisses the back of her head.

He's spooned up behind Jubilee, one arm around her waist, nose in her hair. They're sharing his futon. There's a bottle of water each. There's the condom Jubilee brought home.

That makes him feel a little uncomfortable. He's naked, she's wearing nothing but her bright pink knickers and one thigh high sock.

She was scared as fuck last night, but so determined. She'd taken a lot of persuading.

She rolls over, and yawns. He kisses her. They both have appalling morning breath. He's a little hung over, and he suspects she is too. So much for not drinking.

"Why didn't you want to have sex with me?"

Really not the sort of question he was equipped to face at - he squints - one in the afternoon. Well, at least neither of them have work today.

"Love you too, pet," he says, sitting up. "Ugh."

He looks down, and she staring into the pillow. She sighs. Crap.

"I do," he says, nudging her.

"Yeah."

"Yer not seriously pissed that we didn't fuck last night?" he asks, choosing his words deliberately.

She sighs again, and sits up. "I need tea," she says.

"Stay here." He gets up, flashing his naked arse at her, and goes into the kitchen. Tea, orange juice, toast. Proper hangover food will have to wait til they're both dressed and capable of making it to the greasy spoon opposite the shop. Real hangover cure, egg bacon and tomato butty. Grease to line the stomach and sooth it.

She's finished her bottle of water, and has started on his. He sits her breakfast in front of her.

She really does have nice breasts. He lets her catch him staring at them. She moves to cover herself, and stops. Sits up straighter. Looks defiant.

"We were both drunk," he says. "Haven't y' learnt anything from me? No sex when drunk."

She laughs, bitterly.

"Come on, pet."

She looks at him. "That's not the reason," she says.

He frowns. "What d'yer think is, then?" he asks, unable to keep the confrontation out of his voice.

"You think I'm a kid," she says. "You think I'm not mature enough."

He leans back against the wall. "Yer a bit... naked," he says. "Notice? And I'm a bit... enjoying it." He looks down at his lap. "Yer not a kid, not unless I'm a kiddyfiddler. I just..." He smiles wryly. "I was gonna keep this a secret, but I guess yer'd find out eventually. I'm a bit of a romantic sap."

"So... what?" She looks at him suspiciously.

"Look, ask Gayle, or Sugar, or, hell, even Dis. I'm shite in bed when I'm drunk. An' yer special t' me, Jubes. An' yer a virgin. An' my romantic soul says we oughta wait, and do it all right. In a real bed an' everything. When yer probably ready, not drunk and guilting yerself into it."

She's smiling, but she still objects, "I *am* ready."

"My mistake. I guess it's only me who's not, then," he says easily. "Don't you go pressuring me into it," he warns, waving the mug at her admonishingly. "No emotional blackmail, that `if you loved me' crap. Teacher at school said yer shouldn't take that. Said not to cave to peer pressure."

She smiles at him over her own mug. "I'll try to be patient," she promises.

He reaches an arm out, and she turns and leans back against him. He rests his mug on her head until she threatens to dislodge it.

"Seriously," he says in her ear. "Real bed. Our bed." He squeezes her. "I don't want t' take this fast. I don't... yer've seen me fuck it up before. I don't know why yer trusting me like this. I'm a fuck up. I run away. I withdraw. I'm a right hypocrite."

"How long have I known you?" she asks. "You think I didn't figure all this out a while back?"

"So w-" But he stops himself from asking. He doesn't want to know why. He doesn't want her to think about it. She might change her mind.

"I guess I think I know what to do," she says, knowing perfectly well what he'd been going to ask. "How to handle you. You seem to have a pretty good idea of how to handle me." She doesn't sound very happy about what she's saying. Jono's stomach curls in on itself.

"I care fer yer," he says. They're not magic words. They won't make everything better.

"'For'," she says softly. "Not just `about'." He nods behind her back. "I care *for* you too, Jono. I guess that's why I think we can make it work."

She twists to kiss him on the cheek, and he sees she's smiling. He smiles back, a watery, wobbly smile.

They sit together for a while. Drink tea and water and orange juice. They shower and brush their teeth. They curl up on the couch, and make out.

It's fun. It's nice. It's... weird. He's not scared he's going to kill her. He's not running from her, and he's not running *to* her. They're just... there. Together. He's not even wearing a shirt. She's wearing one of his, huge on her, and they're lying next to each other as much as the couch allows, which isn't much at all, so she's mostly on top of him. His head is propped against the wall, hers against his shoulder.

He nibbles her bottom lip, and strokes her hair. Jubilee pulls her head away, and he makes a disappointed noise.

"This real bed," Jubilee says. "This real flat... you got any time frame in mind for when we start looking for it?"

Jono shrugs. "Soon," he says, and kisses her neck. She runs a finger along the top of his hip bone.

"A lot of people seem to have given me little bits of money," she says. "I suspect collusion. Anyway, I'm thinking I might have enough for a deposit somewhere."

"Yer not asking me t' go out an' get a paper, are y'?" Jono asks, pouting. She laughs at him.

"Not *right* now," she says.

He squeezes her to his chest. "Later," he says. "When we get dinner. Alright?"

"There's no rush," she says. She bites her lip, and glances away from him. He rubs the back of her neck, and slowly draws her head back around to face him.

"None at all," he assures her. She smiles. He smiles back, and she *really* smiles then.

It's going to be okay. With a bit of hard work, it might even be better than that.

 


End file.
